" Mr. Hei
them, such r
ihc genial ;
L I E) RARY
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ss of life in
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t permitted to flag.
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startle and delight the world. . . . One of the most agreeable novels which have come into
our hands for many years past." — Morning Pest,
The Hillyars and the Burtons.
A Story of Two Families. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo.
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" There is an immense body of vitality in this book — humour, imagination, observation in
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reiiicd in by a keen intellect." — Spectator.
" of the story itself it would really be difficult to speak too highly." — London Rtvirw.
Third Edition. Crown 8vo.
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" One of the most agreeable things Mr. Kingsley has written." — Saturday Revino.
Silcote of Silcotes.
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"Any reader desiring in a tale interesting incident, excellent wriung, graphic delineation of
character, and the purest pathos, should read ' Silcote of Silcotes.' " — Court Circular.
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"In these days of sensation novels it is refreshing to take up a work of fiction,
which, instead of resting its claims to attention on the number and magnitude
of the crimes detailed in its pages, relies for success on those more legitimate
grounds of attraction which, in competent hands, have raised this class of
Uterature to a deser\-edly high position."
"One of Miss Muloch's admired fictions, marked by pleasant contrasts of light
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of touching interest, and is most delicately managed." — Liieraty Circular.
"It is a common cant of criticism to call every historical novel the 'best that
has been produced since Scott,' and to bring 'Jane Eyre' on the tapis whenever
a woman's novel happens to be in question. In despite thereof we will say that
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is written with eloquence and power." — Review.
HEAD OF THE FAMILY.
' ' We have arrived at the last and by far the most remarkable of our list of
novels, ' The Head of the Family, " a work which is worthy of the author of ' The
Ogilvies,' and, indeed, in most respects, a great advance on that. It is altogether
a very remarkable and powerful book, with all the elements necessary for a great
and lasting popularity. Scenes of domestic happiness, gentle and tender pathos,
abound throughout it, and are, perhaps, the best and highest portions of the
tale." — Guardian.
"The book is charming. It is written with deep earnestness and pervaded by
a noble and loving philosophy ; while, in giving form to her conceptions, the
writer evinces at OHce a fine and subtle imagination, and that perception of
minute characteristics which gives to fiction the life-like truth of biography.
Nor does she want the power to relieve her more serious view by one of genial
and well-directed humour." — Athe7icBum.
london: CHAPMAIf & HAII, 193, PiccadiUy.
MRS. GORDON SMYTHIES,
luiHOB 0? "cousin geofpebt," " thb jilt," "the life of a bbavit,
"true to thb last," &c.
Faith is the star that gleams above,
Hope is the flower that buds below ;
Twin tokens of celestial love
That out from Nature's bosom grow,
And still alike in sky and sod,
That star and blossom ever point to God."
Poems by Charles Kent.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
TIKSLEY BROTHEES, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
rAll rig'ht$ of Translation and Eeproduetion are reterved.l
8ATIIL, BDTVaBDS AND CO., PHINTEES, CHANDOS STREET,
" Will you think it very lonely,
"When the twilight drawing round,
You shall watch my empty corner
On our hearth's beloved ground ;
And you pause to hear, alas ! in vain.
My tongue's familiar sound."
AUL joined Mary Lynn, Jasper,
and the little girls as they came
out of church.
He had been shown into a front gallery
seat, exactly opposite that in which they
were, and as the light streamed in from a
large upper window on Mary's sweet
Madonna face and on young Jasper s wan
features, he noticed with deep sympathy the
VOL. III. 1
unmistakeable evidences of the presence of
that wasting disease, consumption.
Paul had never before seen Jasper in so
strong and searching a light, therefore he
had never so fally realized the danger and
the doom! Now he saw that the once
glossy hair was damp and lustreless, the
forehead tense, the temples hollow, the
cheek-bones prominent and tinged with
bright red, while the rest of the long, sharp
face was lividly pale. Poor Jaspers fea-
tures were beautiful and regular, his eyes
large, and liis nose and mouth very fine,
else the ravages of disease would have been
more ghastly in effect.
But Paul, who had seen the same face
and form a year before in perfect health,
felt his heart sink, and tears till his eyes at
the awful change.
Jasper was tall, as tall as Paul Penryn,
but he lost much of his height by stooping,
and his chest was narrow and hollow.
You felt as you looked upon him that he
could not be long for this world, and there-
fore it was a comfort to Paul, who was
beo^inmno- to love one of whom he now
blushed to think he had been so madly
jealous, to see how devout he was, how in
spite of his weakness, he knelt throughout
the litany — and how fervently those long,
thin, white hands were clasped in prayer.
Once or twice he became very pale, and
Paul marked, without jealousy, Mary Lynn
handing him her salts and vinaigrette,
opening the door of the pew to admit more
air, and wetting his pocket handkerchief
with eau de Cologne.
Lord Derwent never went to church;
but he had tried to persuade Jasj)er, if he
was indeed resolved to go, to have the car-
riage out. It had rained during the night,
and the father feared the ground might be
damp; but Jasper declared that no horse
should ever be harnessed on the Sabbath, to
draw him, and he added that the walk
would do him good.
Mary and Paul both advised him to go
straight back with them to Altamount
House; but he well knew that would de-
prive them of their stroll in the Park, and
as in everything his prhiciple was to sacri-
fice self to others, he replied, that if Mr.
Penryn would give him his arm, and they
did not mind his resting now and then on
a bench in the Park, he thought the walk
would be both pleasant and beneficial to
He insisted on their leaving him to rest
on a bench under a spreading tree, while
the little girls ran and gambolled on the
grass, and while Mary and Paul took a
" I think he is faint," said Mary, " and
I see the men are milkinc: the coavs out
there. Let us try if we can get him a glass
of ncAv milk. I remember reading in an
old Family Medicine book belonging to
father, and written by Dr. Buchan, that in
consumption milk is more likely to effect a
cure than anything that the doctors can
"Alas, Mary !" said Paul, " I fear neither
milk nor any other remedy can do Jasper
Ardennes any real good ! It is a sad thing
for his father, and even I, cannot think of
the doom of one so young and so very
amiable, without a pang ; but when I saw
him in church to-day, with the light full
upon hhn, I am sure I saw what is com-
monly called death in his face."
Mary's eyes filled with tears as she said,
^' We cannot tell what the South of France
may do for him ; but come with me, and let
us try to ,^et him some milk. He would
not have the horses used to-day, he is
always so eager to sacrifice his own ease
and comfort to others, and to what he
thinks right, but the walking to church,
and then home all this way round, is quite
too much for him !"
" Poor Jasper," said Paul ; "I am sure
he insisted on coming here, instead of
going straight home, because he would not
deprive us of our expected stroll, and the
children of their gambols ! He is heavenly-
minded and fit for the better world to
which he is hastening. Oh,* Mary, were I
as well prepared as he is, I should be glad
indeed to leave this path of life which, so-
bright and bordered with wild-flowers at
first, becomes so dreary when on either side
graves open and beloved ones drop inta
them, and as we advance the world be-
comes one vast cemetery watered with our
tears, and dark with the yews and cypresses-
that mark the spot where we have laid our
darlings, until our own grave opens to
"And from that dark and narrow bed,"
said Mary, " we rise to rejoin, in scenes of
endless happiness, those w^ho are only gone
before, if we have faith !"
By this time they had reached the spot
where stood the " milky mothers of the
herd" with those large loving eyes and
frasfrant breaths! The little orirls ran
joyously up to partake of the sweet new
milk, and for an extra penny the milkman
sent a lad with a glass of milk to the invalid,
who seemed much revived by it. Paul
and Mary also partook of this nectar
provided by nature, and soon after, Jasper
leaning on Paul's strong arm, proceeded
slowly homewards. Often the afflicted one
stopped, panting for breath, often tor-
mented by a wearing cough, and often
harassed by a sharp pain in his side. But
he did not complaiu, and when he marked
the pity and anxiety in Mary's face, he
" You fancy, Mary, that I suffer much
more than I do; but when you see what a
good appetite I have, and what an excellent
dinner 1 shall make, I hope you'll be a
little more cheerful !"
Lord Derwent was on the balcony when
they entered Grosvenor Square. He was
looking eagerly out for the only being he
really loved on earth, the only being who
really loved him!
He would not admit to his own heart
that Jasper was in any real danger.
He resented as a personal affront any
unfavourable opinion, or desponding view
of his son's case !
Jasper was now under the care of
the celebrated Dr. H , of Albemarle
Street, perhaps the only really scientific
and experienced physician who believes in
the curability of consumption, and who has
justified that opinion by several indis-
putable, and as the world says, miraculous
Dr. H did not quite despair of
Jasper Ardennes, although the disease was
too far advanced when first he saw the
sufferer, to admit of any very sanguine
But Dr. H did not, as all the other
physicians had done, at once doom the
patient to death, and the father to despair !
And the system he pursued, and the
remedies he administered, had done wonders
in mitigating the symptoms, and assuaging
that endless torment, the cough !
A feAV months earlier, it is probable Dr.
H might have effected one of those
wondrous cures of which all the world is
cognizant, and which the friends of those
beloved ones, suffering from lung disease,
are never weary of quoting in public, and
of dwelling on in private ! But in Jasper's
case, as in that of so many others, Dr.
H was called in too late ! And when
this, alas! is the case, though he can do
wonders in mitigating suffering, and in
prolonging existence, he cannot save life !
Lord Derwent had a smile and a nod
for Jasper, but he looked coldly and
sternly on the rest of the party ; and he
said to Mary Lynn, that she ought not to
have let Jasper walk so far, and tire him-
" Dear father," said Jasper, " what can
poor little Mary do, when a great strong
fellow like me is quite resolved to have his
own way. Mary did her utmost to get me
home directly church Avas over, but I longed
for a turn in the Park, and I have had
some new milk there, fresh from the cow ;.
and Mary's great authority, Dr. Buchan,
says, it seems, there is no remedy like milk
in such cases as mine. I feel twice as
strong since I had that milk, and I shall
have new milk in future ad lihitum.^^
Jasper's cheerful, hopeful manner re-
stored Lord Derwent's good humour.
Hope revived in his heart, and everything
looked couleur de rose.
He cordially welcomed Paul, and said he
wished some arrangement could be made to
secure Jasper such an agreeable companion
during his winter in the South.
Paul's heart beat high at the suggestion.
A deep blush suiFiised the face which
Mary instantly turned away.
The thought of travelling in the sweet
balmy South of France with Mary, perhaps
of visiting beautiful Italy in company with
that loved, lovely, and loving one, it
seemed too much haj^piness for this earth.
And yet why not? If Lord Derwent, aware
that Paul was turning his time and talents
to account as a city clerk, offered him a
more lucrative appointment as companion-
tutor to his son, why should he refuse so
advantageous and captivating a proposal?
'' Oh, father," said Jasper, *' if Mr. Paul
Penryn's present engagements do not pre-
vent his joining our party, it would be
such a great pleasure and comfort to me
to have his company. He is a better
scholar than I am, and has studied much
harder while preparing for an open scholar-
ship at Oxford ; but I am not so far behind
him as to make it a bore to him to read
with me ; and I should like to keep up the
Latin and Greek I have worked pretty hard
'^We will think about it," said Lord
Derwent ; " and when I have considered
the matter a httle I will talk it over with
Mr. Paul Penryn. But," he added, with
aristocratic and characteristic insolence,
''if I eno;ao;e him to read with vou, no
matter whether you are or are not advanced
enough to make it pleasant to him, people
in his situation must never feel bored by
those in ours."
This was said while Paul was on the
balcony with the little girls; they having
dragged him out, rather against his will, to
tell them the real Latin name of a butterfly,
who was rocking himself in a rose that was
blooming on a beautiful rose-tree there.
He therefore did not hear the latter part of
But Mary did, and her colour came and
went as she listened.
Little did Lord Derwent imagine what a
tumult of delio-ht was heavino; the youns:
girl's bosom at the thought of Paul Penryn's
being of their party during their winter in
the South ; nor yet what indignation she
felt at the insolence of Lord Derwent's last
She was mollified, however, when Jasper
replied, "I can never think with you,
father, on that subject. Paul Penryn is a
perfect gentleman, and the first duke in the
land can be no more. I look upon him as
an equal, and shall always treat him as
''When you are older, and know the
world better, my boy, your views will
alter," said Lord Derwent, coldly.
It was now the middle of August, and in
order to keep Jasper as long as possible
under the care of Dr. H , it was decided
that they were not to leave London till the
end of October.
So there was plenty of time for consider-
ing and consulting; and in the meantime
Jasper formed a real attachment for Paul
Penryn — an attachment which Paul warmly
" "When ev'ry tree Spring's livery wears,
I hear the cuckoo sing,
And listen as a man who hears,
Yet hears not anything.
For while upon the wavering spray
The cuckoo sadly sings,
]\Iy thoughts are wandering far away
To other sunny springs.
That cuckoo on the bough still sings,
But her notes fall drearily;
This Spring may be like other Springs,
But it seems not so to me."
AViLLiAii GoKDON Smythies : Golden Leisures.
F Lord Derwent and Jasper had had
their own way Paul would have
spent all his time at Altamount
House. The father, who was ever on the
watch, remarked that his son while reading
and discussing an ode of Horace or a fine
passage of Homer or Aristophanes with
Paul, coughed much less frequently than
usual, and did not so often put his hand to
his side as was his wont, with an expression
of pain and a low moan.
Jasper was highly intellectual, and ab-
sorbed by classical discussion, or by the
nice appreciation of some fine passage, or
carried away by some argument with Paul
as to the reading of some disputed phrase,
he would look and be his former happy,
merry self for a few minutes. But alas!
the pang was only suspended — the wearing
fit of coughing was only deferred ; and after
a brief interval of delicious hope, Lord
Derwent would hurry from the room with
tears in his eyes and despair in his heart !
Paul's present engagements and avoca-
tions did not admit of his availing himself
very often of the pressing general invita-
tion Lord Derwent gave him to i^ Alt amount
Perhaps his visits were all the more
valued because they were necessarily few
and far between. But not only was old
Pemberton very kind and very liberal, but
he was very exacting and furiously
Young Barton was making a progress
and showing an attention and perseverance
that greatly interested Paul in his success,
and made him resolve to do his utmost for
so docile and grateful a pupil.
Then too, the other advertisement he had
answered had to his great surprise, after an
interval of several weeks, secured him a
very heavy literary job; not very well paid,
but as he wished to be connected with the
publishing world, and despised no honest
means in his power of adding to his funds
(for his father's sake), he did not feel jus-
tified in refusing the work at the remune-
ration offered to him.
To accomplish it he had to rise at five
and to work hard, not even stopping while
he took his breakfast, until he was due at
Certainly there could not have been found
m the whole metropolis a more self-denying,
industrious, devoted youth than was Paul
Penrvn at this time.
He had one great object in view, one
noble aim, one pious duty to perform, — the
earning that thousand pounds on the re-
placing of wliich, in the Three per Cents.,
his father's honour, character, and safety
Paul had inwardly vowed that he would
■do it, if it was to be done !
But to do it, he knew that he must
•sacrifice to this one object all that is
most engaging and enthralling to the heart
of youth !
Love — and he loved Mary with all his
fervent, honest, young heart — love would
have led him every evening away from the
extra labour he had imposed upon himself,
to the scenes where he was so warmly
VOL. III. 2
welcomed by poor suffering Jasper, and
where Mary's smile and Mary's voice made
an Eden of the heart.
Sometimes Pleasure, the Syren, tried hard
to tempt him ; he loved music, he delighted
in the drama, he was fond of pictures, yet
he never spent sixjDence of the money he
had silently and solemnly consecrated to
his great and noble object on any pleasure
No dainties could tempt him, no fatigues
induce him to spend a shilling, or give in
in any way, while by denying himself and
working on he could add to his fund, and
thus, toiling so hard, and living with an
economy so watchful and so strict, hi&
hoard was fast becoming considerable.
Paul was beginning now to ponder on the
safest method of disposing of it, for at this
time he was not the only lodger at Mrs.
Quite recently she had let a room on the
same floor with his, and which indeed at
one time had communicated with his apart-
ment by a door, now kept locked, to an
artisan of a very sinister expression of
countenance, and about whom she knew
nothing, but that a neighbour of hers, not
having a room to let to him herself, had
recommended him to her.
Paul had never had a good view of this
man's face, for he was suffering from tooth-
ache — at least, so he told Mrs. Collins —
and in consequence his head and jaw were
Mrs. Collins had told Paul that she
did not exactly like his ways and
He professed to be an artisan, yet he
did not rise early or seem to have
any regular work; and he sometimes
stayed out all night and lay in bed all
^ * TpT 7p
The time for Jasper and his party to
go abroad was drawing near, and Jasper
was constantly urging his father to pro-
pose to Paul to accompany them, and
he entreated Lord Derwent to fix the
remuneration he offered at a sum which
would atone to Paul for all he must
give up in leaving the country.
Paul had told Jasper and Mary Lynn
that he had a great object in view in
raising a certain sum by a certain time,
and he had amused them with an ac-
count of his various employments, and
manifold means of raising the wind.
Mary had no doubt that Paul's object
was to secure a sum wherewith to go
to Oxford to compete for an open scholar-
ship, and she impressed Jasper with the
Jasper, having conveyed this know-
ledge to his father, the latter felt that if he
did ask Paul to join their party as com-
panion-tutor to his son, he must remunerate
him handsomely, and just at this time it was
not convenient to Lord Derwent to do this.
Jasper's illness had already been a very
great expense ; but that was not the
chief cause of Lord Derwent's embarrass-
He had lost heavily on the turf, and his
father, now very old and infirm, had be-
come singularly fond of that money which,
in the nature of things, he could not much
Byron wittily said —
" So for a good old gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice."
Lord Altamount had taken up with
avarice, and at a time when his doing so
was singularly inconvenient to Lord Der-
The Earl, who had hitherto been a
liberal man, had insisted on knowing the
why and the wherefore before he gave a
cheque for any amount, however small ;
and he actually took a great deal of trouble
to calculate the expenses of the " winter in
the South," and tlie fares of all who were
to be of the party.
When Lord Derwent, who had hitherto
found his father lavish where Jasper, the
hope and heir of all his honours, was con-
cerned, spoke of engaging Paul Penryn to
go with his son as companion-tutor, at a
handsome rate of remuneration, the old
Earl positively refused to furnish the ne-
cessary sum for an expense which he
declared v/ould be rather injurious than
beneficial to Jasper.
'' Don't let him trouble himself with
Latin and Greek," said the old Earl; ''if
he had not studied so hard, he'd never
have fallen into ill-health. I set my face
against companion-tutors and studies of all
kinds. Mary Lynn is enough to amuse
him, and as the children are to go, of course
she and Miss Osgood must be of the party,
and that will be ruinous enough without
adding young Penryn to the party."
One day about three weeks after his
famous party, while Fisk was perched on
his high stool at Cottrell's, in very low
spirits, two beetle-browed, bull-necked fel-
lows, in white hats, coloured chokers, and
with thick knobbed sticks, entered the
Their small pig- eyes glistened with
triumph, and their bottle-noses, of a purple
tint, harmonized well with their bloated
complexions and with the strong odour of
ruin and tobacco with which they tainted
Fisk, when he saw them, became lividly
pale, and seemed almost to collapse.
In that state they arrested him and
carried him off between them to Whitecross-
street Prison at the suit of his landlady,
Barbara Blore. A fortnight before he had
been served with a writ, and as he had
done nothing in the matter, it had gone on
to judgment and incarceration.
^' He richl}^ deserves it," said Mr. Beagle.
" A fool, who knows nothing of horses,
spending his substance in backing and bet-
ting with those humbugging fellows, Lob-
ster and Spark."
" I'm not sorry they've nabbed him,"'
said Brymer, '' for a fellow so ' down in the
mouth' is no end of a bore; and then he'&
always trying to borrow; I hate a chap
who's always asking you for half-a-crown,
or a shilling, or a sixpence even."
" He'll have a fine time of it," said one
of the junior clerks, "if he hasn't a feu-
bob in his pocket. He'll be rather roughly
handled in quod, and serve him right too.
He's held his head high enough here; a
fcAV months in limbo will take the starch
out of him."
" Gentlemen," said Paul, '' I wonder to-
hear you^ who all prided yourselves on
being Fisk's bosom-friends, and who so
courted him before this 'rub in his for-
tunes,' now so ready to 'sink him.' I can-
not believe you can be so mean as to
forsake a friend because he's down in the
world. Let's do as we would be done by.
I vote we subscribe a fcAv shillings each, for
though I have no personal experience of
such matters, I have read about them, and I
believe that a few shillings in hand greatly
alleviate to the debtor the horrors of im-
prisonment. Let us make up a pound
between us, and if Brymer will come with
me, we'll go and see the poor fellow directly
one o'clock strikes. Let's see, we are five ;
I'll trouble you for four shillings each —
there's my subscription to begin with !"
For very shame the other clerks (Fisk's
bosom friends) could not hold back, but
they gave grudgingly, and looked very
Paul took no notice of this; he despised
them for their narrow hearts and mean
natures ; and as soon as one o'clock struck
he said, '' Now, Mr. Brymer, if you please
we'll go at once to Whitecross Street, to see
'' But," said Brymer, '' my dinner will be
spoiled, risk and I had ordered a roasted
bullock's heart, stuffed, and with currant
jelly and gravy, and if heart's not eaten
hot, it's worth nothing. Who's to pay for
Fisk's share now, I wonder?"
" We'll divide the cost between us, and
take it to him in a hot basin," said Paul.
*' I have no doubt the people at the chop-
house where you and he always dine,
will lend all that is needful."
With a very bad grace Brymer com-
plied. He had no sentiment in real life,
but a great deal of maudlin sentimentality,
which he used up in his poems.
*' Well, if it must be done," he said, " let's
get it over. I'm very faint and hungry
myself, and I shan't have time to get
my own dinner at all if we don't push
The young lady at the chop-house put
the better half of the bullock's heart, with
abundance of gravy, jelly, stuffing, and a
roasted potato, into a hot tin with a cover.
She was a great admirer of the " horsey"
Fisk, and she already knew that he had
*^ come to grief," for the bailiffs " used"
her employer's house, and were at that
moment devourins^ their half-cooked steaks
and onions, and drinking their stout.
She promised to keep the other half of
the heart, hot for Brymer, and sent Fisk a
slice of plum pudding extra and gratis,
with her love.
They found poor Fisk in a state of the
greatest dejection, faint with hunger, with-
out a penny in his pockets, and already
shunned and despised for having been
unable to stand treat, and, in consequence,
in quarantine — or, as they had it, sent to
A good dinner, and a pound in his pocket,
made him feel (as he said) quite " like
somebody else;'' and he was in high favour
with those of the same ward directly
he announced his readiness to " stand treat."
As Paul and Brymer liad to dine and
get back to Cottrell's by three, they could
not prolong their stay; but they left Fisk
in high spirits, well fed, and surrounded
hy friends^ and they had found him very
dejected, faint with hunger, and the object
of general derision and disgust.
Paul had only five minutes for his own
dinner, but he resolved to make up for his
very short time and short commons at
Brymer almost cried with vexation.
Miss Pounce had forgotten to keep the
heart hot, and when he complained about it,
she told him pertly, " that cold heart would
suit him best, as it was most like his own, for
he must be cold-hearted indeed who could
care so much about his own dinner when
his best friend was in such trouble."
He preferred in his heart the least ringlet that curled
Down her beautiful neck, to the throne of the world."
HEN Paul returned to his lodgings
that evening he found a note from
Mary Lynn, begging him, if pos-
sible, to call at Altamount House in the
She said Lord Derwent had ^been sent
for, as the Earl of Altamount was very
He had had some kind of fit, and Lord
Derwent had started at once for Pencombe.
She added, that by a letter from the
"veiled Lady,'^ who corresponded with her
regularly, she found it was reported that
the Earl was in o;reat danger.
Mary added, that she feared if Lord
Denvent felt it incumbent on liim to stay
mth his father the Earl, Lady Derwent
would come up to town, to be with Jasper,
and in that case, she added, she feared her
position would be quite untenable.
Poor Jasper, she said, had been a
good deal agitated by the news of his
grandfather's illness, and, on the whole,
things looked so dark and threatening
that she pined for the support and
comfort of a quiet evening with a true
Paul could not find it in his heart ta
neglect this appeal ; although, in order to
comply with Mary's request, he had to
disappoint that irascible old gentleman ^
Mr. Hamilton Pemberton.
But not only Mary's entreaty went ta
his heart, but poor Jasj)er had added a
few rather desponding lines, asking Paul,
as a personal favour to one who might not
trouble him often or long, to come to
Altamount House as soon as possible;
and adding, he was resolved not to sit
down to dinner until Paul had arrived.
Thus urged, Paul sent an excuse to Mr.
Pemberton, and with feet winged by love
arrived at Altamount House at a quarter
Although, to please Jasper, Lord
Derwent was always very kind and
courteous to Paul Penryn, yet Paul always
enjoyed his visits to Grosvenor Square
most when his lordship was absent. Lord
Derwent was a bad man, and though
Paul was not aware of this fact, yet there
was something in the voice, the expression,
and the conversation of Jasper's father
which prevented Paul's liking him.
And yet he had only seen him under his
best and most humane aspect.
The one redeeming point of this dark,
selfish, cruel character was his devoted love
for his son ; and though this love was not
without alloy, for he saw in Jasper not only
the loved child of his heart, but the heir of
the House of Altamount, without whom he
believed that a cousin he loathed would, at
his own decease, be the Earl, his anxiety
about, and his tenderness for his son, formed
the bright side of his very dark nature.
Paul knew of no other, and yet he could
not like this man.
He perceived that a general sense of
relief pervaded the little circle at Alta-
mount House in the absence of Lord
The little girls, instead of sitting silent
and prim, and looking scared and dull,
were sporting like fairies about the rooms,
the stairs, and the hall.
Mary looked brighter and more cheerful
than usual, and even Jasper, though he
loved his father tenderly, talked more
freely, and laughed more frequently now
that those deep-set eyes with their watchful
and somewhat crafty expression, and that
cold and rather haughty face, were with-
Jasper, Mary, and Paul spent a very
pleasant evening, talking over the past and
mapping out that future Avhich one of them
at least, to more experienced eyes, would
have seemed little likely to enjoy.
They played a round game to amuse the
little girls, who ventured to laugh and talk
•as they had never done in their fathers
presence ; and Paul went away a little later
than usual, having given a promise to spend
with Jasper and ]\Iary every hour he could
snatch from the great object of his life
without in any way affecting his work's
Paul, as we have said, had a genius for
poetry and a talent for composition — and
he had sent many contributions in prose
and verse to the high class magazines,
and even to the cheap periodicals of the
Brilliantly endowed by nature with ima-
gination, comparison, and wit, and being,
as he was for his age, remarkably well
VOL. ITI. 3
read, and a good classic and a modem
linguist of merit, Paul felt and knew that
the poems, tales, and essays which he sent
to the different editors of the high class and
popular periodicals, were very much above
the average contributions to those publica-
tions, but as yet lie had met with no appre-
ciation, no encouragement, no success of
On one occasion Paul, not having kept a
copy of a tale which he had written with
great care, and in the composition of which
he had felt so much inspired that he had
had no doubt of its most thorough
success, called, by the advice of Mr.
Pemberton, at the office of the Cheap-
A new clerk, mistaking him for one of
the young knights of the paste-pot and
scissors, who were employed at a very low
rate to compile, adapt, absorb, translate,
and remodel, ushered Paul into the pre-
sence of the ''Conductor.''
The little office was crowded with young
fellows, hollow-eyed, gaunt, and out at
elbows, who were receiving their orders
from him whom Paul, at a glance, decided
to be not only a " conductor '^ but a " cad."
It was '^make up day," and the Con-
ductor had several French novels and
feuilletons before him, and was instruct-
ing a shadowy young man how he Avas
to take a chapter from this work, a
few pages from that, and a few more
from a third, alter the names, places, and
dates, and work up the whole into an
Of course it had to be translated, and
that would be a work of some time, and the
poor hack, who had a bad cough and a
hectic flush on his hollow cheek, must live
The Conductor was very fat, fair, and
forty, with good, regular features, and a
very bad expression, very gentle and yet
" Sir," said the poor hack, very meekly
and nervously, " I quite understand what
you want done ! I'll set about it at once,
sir. It will make about eight pages of the
Cheapside^ sir, that will be tea shillings, sir,
at the rate you propose; will you kindly
advance me five shillings, sir, I am quite
" By no manner of means, my dear sir !'*
said the Conductor, with his blandest smile.
*^ There are two kinds of paymasters, each
equally to be eschewed — he who is before-
hand with his pay, and he who is behind-
hand ! You would work without the elixir
of hope, my dear sir, were I to comply with
" If I get it done and bring it to-morrow,
will you pay me then, sir?"
"Decidedly not, my dear sir! I cannot
offer you an inducement to slur and scamp
your work. When the copy has appeared
in print, and been published to the world,
then comes *pay day' for the contributors
— then, (and with a fat white hand, he took
up a cheque book) then, from this once bulky
volume, now growing so fast ' fine by
degrees and beautifully less,' I shall have
the pleasure of handing you a cheque."
He sipped a cup of coffee between each
sentence, v/hich he spoke in an oily, rounded
voice, and very deliberately raising his
light eyebrows and smiling a bitter smile
For a moment the poor hard-ridden hack
was tempted to throw the Conductor to the
The colour deepened on the skin of his
sharp cheek-bones — flesh there was none;
his eyes flashed, his breast heaved, his
breath came thick. He felt sorely tempted
to throw the French novels and newspapers
at the laro'e head Avith a rather narrow
brow, and yet fidl development at the back,
and on which the thin light hair was care-
fully parted and sleekly brushed, oiled, and
The Conductor, still sipping liis coffee
and crunching a biscuit, took no more
notice of the poor hack.
He had beckoned to another of that
" Black Band."
The poor invalid hack, despair in his
heart, but remembering the old adage,
^^ Second thoughts are best," made his
escape, afraid of being again tempted to
rebel, and saying to himself, '' I have no
other opening, no other hope !" — and re-
solving to try to borrow half-a-crown of a
good-humoured little printer's devil of
the establishment, who was much better
paid than himself, and who, he felt sure,
would advance himtwo-and-sixpence of the
ten shillings to be paid that day fort-
The Conductor's false, pale blue eyes had
not yet lighted on Paul. There were
several hacks between our. hero and the
€di tor's table.
To the third who went up the Conductor
said, taking a MS. out of his table-
'' Now, sir, I have a little job for you
here, which will require all your tact and
address; but if you do it neatly I will give
you a cheque for two guineas. This is a
tale by your humble servant, written in
rash, impassioned youth, and alluding to
people, characters, and circumstances which
the more mature judgment of manhood, ad-
vises me to veil! Will you then change
the scene, the names, the date, write a new
opening chapter, and unsex the hero and
heroine, — with a little management the veil
will be impenetrable I"
'^ Not quite, Mr. Conductor," said Paul
Penryn, stepping forward.
He had recognised his own MS. in that
which was held out in tliat fat white hand
— and on the title-page (in his own hand) he
saw, " Young Blair ; or. The Battle of
" What have you to say on the subject^
iny dear sir?" asked the Conductor, just a
little startled out of liis insolent self-posses-
sion — as Avas evidenced by his rounding his
light eyes, and by a little tinge of colour
on his pale face.
" Simply that / am the author of that
tale,'' said Paul, firmly, " and that I object
to all the liberties you propose to take with
The Conductor took it up, pretended to
examine it, and said —
" My dear sir ! I thank you for prevent-
ing the commission of a serious blunder!
I am so near-sighted ! Slopp ! my good
fellow, this is not the tale I meant to give
you ! How this one came into my drawer
I cannot conceive !"
He then pretended to rummage for what
he knew was not there, nor anywhere else ;
and of course, finding nothing, he said,
'^ It must be in my desk at home. Slopp —
I'll bring it up to-morrow or next day.
And so, this is yours, Mr. ?"
"Penryn," said Paul— '' Paul Penryn !"
" A very good 7iom de plume.^'' said the
unabashed Conductor; "you have called
in ' apt alliteration's artful aid,' and the
' Pen' is very appropriate to those who live
by that little implement. Are you one of
"Not exactly; but I wish to belong to
'• And you thought to make your dehut
in Cheapside V
" I thought that tale might suit your
" I am always unwilling to dash the fiery
hopes of youth," said the Conductor.
" Many of our rising — nay, of our risen —
geniuses owe their present footing to my
helping hand! My dear sir! 1 am the
author's friend ! No one who has ever en-
listed under my banner has proved a
deserter ! I have never, in all my career as
an employer, lost an author — I do not
think I have ever lost a printer. I am half
inclined to give *you the ' open sesame' of
the Cheapside ! But do not forget that
the writings of unknown aspirants are
worth less than nothing to us 1 My dear
sir, may I trouble you to step this way."
Paul followed the portly humbug into an
adjoining room. It was half full of MSS.
of every variety of size and shape. Many
of them had not been opened.
" Behold the fate of most manuscripts,"
said the Conductor, '' and thank your lucky
stars that yours is not among them.''
^' Could they not be returned to the
writers ?" asked Paul.
" Could I not keep half-a-dozen extra
clerks for that purpose?" sneered the Con-
ductor. " No, sir, we cannot guarantee
the return of rejected contributions. As
they are voluntarily sent to us, we can only
advise authors to keep copies !"
^' That involves double work," said Paul.
" Practice, excellent practice — much
wanted by all would-be authors !"
" But you mean to use some of them, I
presume, else why is that gentleman looking
over and selecting some of those old and
" Idle curiosity on his part — simply
But he hurried Paul, who had inquired
" too curiously," back to his oflSce.
'' In confidence let me tell you," said the
Conductor, " I have at my country-seat,
besides what you have just seen, barns full of
rejected MSS. I shall sell them as waste
paper, and send whatever they fetch to
* The Poor Authors' Burial Fund,' a charity
I have myself started, and which supplies a
gi^ave want." He laid a stress on the
word c/i^ave, to give point to the odious pun.
'- However, to business, young sir. No one
can live upon love (not even the love of
the Nine Old Maids), so if you like to take
a guinea for this experiment I'll give you a
cheque for the amount."
He took up his cheque-book with a sort
of dignified tenderness and an air of de-
voted self-sacrifice, and smiled benignly as
he said —
" You see, young sir, by the state of this
book, I am no niggard taskmaster — I delight
in paying as much as most Conductors do in
hoarding. I may say ' my young soul ivas
sacrificed to books,' but principally to my
cheque books. If," he added, while tears of
plausibility filled his light eyes — " If I never
see my money again, at least I shall have
fed the lamp of youthful Ambition with the
oil of Hope — but we will trust there may
be the germs of future greatness in that little
effort. And with that hope I will venture
to request you to send in another story of
the same length, and on the same terms.''
Very deliberately and very pompously
the Conductor wrote a cheque for 1/. Is, —
'^ Payable to Mr. Paul Penryn, or hearer ^
He handed to Paul the delicate lilac strip
of paper and a lithographed form of receipt
to sign (including copyright).
Paul Avas enclianted — a guinea in esse
and another in 2yos-9e.
He thought the Conductor the most
gentlemanly, liberal creature in the world.
He forgot the poor hack Avhom he had so
He forgot all he had heard from Mr.
Pemberton of the origin and history, the
tricks and exactions — the humbug, blar-
ney, and double-dealing of the Conductor
of the Cheapside.
" Let us speak of a man as we find himT'
he said to himself, as he left the office with
the cheque in his pocket and hope in his
The Conductor leant back in his easy-
chair, sipped his coffee, and said to himself
— '' I think we've got out of that scrape
with credit and profit ! The young fellow
has genius and enthusiasm ! We will work
him — work him up, as the slaveowners do
Then a ray of anger shot from his light
phosphoric eyes, and a flush came over
his handsome, massive, and Is'ero-hke
He went to his voice-conductor and called
The man came.
'^ Was it you who admitted Mr. Penryn,
a stranger, on 'Make-up day,' without
asking my permission, Markham?" he said.
'' I thought, sir," said Markham, trem-
bhng, " he was one of the contributors !"
" The next time you take upon yourself
to tJwik, Mr. Markham, instead of obeying
my orders, I shall have the pleasure of re-
leasing you from your attendance here !"
Markham thought of his wife and four
little ones, apologized and retired, and the
conductor went on with the '' make-up."
" Alive by miracle, or what is next,
Alive by Mead."
lORD DERWENT returned to town,
The old Earl, his father, was a
little better, and Dr. H , who had
kindly promised to see Jasper at once, and
let his father know exactly how he was,
had been obliged in candour to own that
his patient was, if anything, rather worse !
Dr. H meant exactly what he said,
in fact he always did, but Lord Derwent,
who had been accustomed to flattering
physicians, fancied that had not Jasper
been very much worse, Dr. H would
have made him out decidedly better.
Under this impression, Lord Derwent
could not rest, and he started for town,
having promised his wife, Lady Derwent,
to return to her on the third day, unless
Jasper were too ill to admit of his leaving
Lord Derw^ent's unexpected return put a
stop to many little pleasurable arrange-
ments made by Mary and Jasper, and in
w^hich they had hoped to have been able to
include Paul Penryn.
Lord Derwent ^vas more irritable,
gloomy, and taciturn than ever.
His anxiety about his son was intense,
and the constant watch he kept over
everything Jasper ate, drank, said, or did
Avould have exasperated any less patient
and aiFectionate son.
Lord Derwent had other causes of alarm
and annoyance besides poor Jasper's pre-
He had seen the medical attendant of
the Earl, his father, and had questioned
him closely and seriously.
The opinion of Mr. Elliot, wlio saw the
Earl daily, was, that he could not live three
Lord Derwent was extremely anxious
to find Dan Devrill, and to consult with
Dan had ascertained beyond a doubt
that Minna — in reality Lady Derwent —
the Vicar's daughter, and indisputably Lord
Derwent's lawful wife, was livini]: in
disguise, and under a feigned name at her
This now undoubted fact he had con-
veyed by letter to Lord Derwent.
Lord Derwent remembering the solemn
oath he had induced Minna to take, never
to reveal her private marriage during the
life of his father, and aware that she had
inherited the most chivalrous sense of
honour and love of truth from her father,
fully understood that her silence and en-
durance would last as long as tlie old Earl
lived, but that in justice to her own fair
VOL. III. 4
fame, to lier father, and to the spotless
name of Trelawny, she would make both
her existence and her marriage public
directly Lord Altamount's decease released
her from her oath.
" If my father should die suddenly,"
said Lord Derwent to himself, " Minna can
prove herself my wife, and Jasper ille-
o^itimate! I cannot rest while so terrible
a possibility hangs over me ! I will do no
murder, I will not listen to that scoundrel,
Dan Devrill, who says he will undertake
that she shall never trouble me or disgrace
my son, if I will but say the word. Xo !
I will not have her blood upon my soul!
Poor wretch! I have wronged and injured
her enough already; but I will have her
removed from Pencombe, and confined for
life, where she never can be discovered,
yet, where she shall have every comfort!
Rotterdam is the place, and Yaneck's
private madhouse shall be her abode till
Vaneck was a creature of Lord Derwent's.
He was aDutcliman who had been Lord
Derwent's valet, adviser, confidant — or
rather accomplice — and was at one time
his master's master, but having been de-
tected in the theft of a fifty pound note,
he became Lord Derwent's slave.
When his fiither, who kept a private
madhouse near Rotterdam, died, Vaneck
left Lord Derwent and succeeded to his
father as proprietor of the " Garden of
Eden," as the lunatic asylum was called.
Vaneck was glad to escape from the eye
that had detected his guilt, but as his
asylum was on a grand scale, and devoted
to lunatics of wealth and rank only, he
made good use of his long residence in
England, and extensive connexion with the
valets of noble families in Great Britain
and L'eland, to obtain patients — many of
them not insane, but who for one reason or
another were in the way of those who pre-
ferred the greater cruelty of lifelong in-
UNIVERSITY OF ILU'^^'^
carceration in a madhouse for tlieir victims
to any deed of violence that might bring
themselves to the gallows ! Nothing could
exceed the security of this prison, the
watchfulness of Yaneck and his myrmi-
dons. Xo patient had ever escaped from
the " Garden of Eden." And yet it was
only in cases of raving madness that corpo-
real chastisement or coercion was resorted
to. The building was in itself a strong
fortress, surrounded by a moat, only to be
passed by a drawbridge.
Every elegance and comfort of life
abounded at the "Garden of Eden." The
house was very large and elegantly
The grounds were beautiful, and the
trees, shrubs, flowers, lawn, and arbours
Books, pictures, musical instruments,
and indoor amusements abounded.
Nothing was wanting but liberty and
dear friends 1
Lord Derwent, whose conscience had
grown rather more sensitive since he had
associated so much with a youth of such
purity of heart and piety of mind as
Jasper, said to himself, " It cannot be a
crime to confine for life in a home so re-
plete with luxury and comfort, one, who,
if at large, when my father dies, will
disgrace and ruin my son ! I was inno-
cent, because ignorant of Minna's existence
when I married Jasper's mother. Were
she alone concerned I would acknowledge
Minna, were it only to humble and punish
her! But with Jasper's position, present
and future at stake, I cannot hesitate a
moment. Dan Devrill tells me Minna is
very fond of sailing, and sometimes hires
a boat belonging to a friend of his, and
sails alone at dawn, or by moonlight to
Rockness, to the Robbers Cave, and other
places. He wants to avail himself of
this custom of hers, to supply his pal's
place and sink the boat, and Minna in it,
but I will have him manage to convey her
to Eotterdam, and to the ' Garden of
Eden.' Once under Yaneck's charge, he
may sink the boat and spread the report
that she was drowned ! Her father can-
not know of her private marriage, for her
vow bound her to reveal it to no one.
Minna ought to be handed over to Yaneck
before my father dies. The sooner the
better, and if it is all done while I am
here, no suspicion can light upon me I
But I must confer with that scoundrel,
Devrill, and yet I cannot leave Jasper
again just yet. He is certainly not quite
so well. No one can watch over him as I
¥,i ^ ^ ^
One moonlight evening Paul, who had
been to King-ston on business for Mr. Cot-
trell, returned by a steamboat and landed
at Paul's Wharf. As he hurried along the
passages, so numerous, dark, and intricate,
between the pier and the streets — a thin
line of moonlight was bordering on either
side the darkest shadow — he thought what
a number of crimes might be committed,
what plots concocted, what rendezvous
held, in that weird place, so lonely and
desolate, though so close to the greatest
thoroughfare in the world.
As these fancies passed through his
brain, he came suddenly on two men in
earnest conversation in a dark recess.
They were about to part as he passed
them, and the moon coming at that moment
from behind a cloud, Paul recoanised
the tall stately form and stony Grecian
profile of Lord Derwent, and the slouched
hat, muffler, rough jacket, old corduroys,
and coarse highlows of his fellow lodger.
He had never seen this man's full face,
but he had seen his profile, the most re-
markable feature of which was a broken
nose of magenta hue. The man was also
remarkable for his hair, which was sino:u-
larly black, fine, and curly, and which he
wore, as sailors often do, in a quantity of
small corkscrew curls hanging round his
ears and on the collar of his coat.
Paul felt curious to know what Lord
D^rwent could have to say to such a wild,
disreputable-looking rough as his fellow-
lodger, but of his lordship's identity Paul
had no doubt.
It had often struck him, when he had
caught a glimpse of his fellow-lodger, that
he had seen such a form before, but he
could not remember where.
At any rate, he had a general impression
unfavourable to the man, and he often
asked Mrs. Collins when she expected him
to leave her house.
* * ^ * «
The next day Paul dined at Lord Der-
To amuse the children, his lordship being
out, a round game was proposed.
Paul, with one of the little girls as his
partner, won the pool.
His share was six shillings.
He hurried, as soon as he got home, to
the closet where he kept the box containing
his hard-earned savings, to add his winnings
to the hoard.
The lock had been picked, the door
Horror of horrors — the box was gone I
" I'll not believe it."
HEN first he discovered his loss,
Paul stood for some time cold, j^ale,
For a moment he felt as if he were going
to die, or to faint — the sensation to the in-
experienced is much the same — and Paul,
strong and healthy, had never fainted, nor
had he ever seen any one else in a swoon.
He had been present, it is true, when
Fisk sank down all but insensible at sight
of the bailiffs who came to carry him
To understand the intensity of Paul's
emotion, his alarm, and his despair, the
reader must bear in mind that his ever-
AC QUIT TED. 59
increasing hoard represented to his mind
not a sum in notes, gold, and silver, but
his fathers honour, health, safety, and
happiness — the preservation of the ancient
name of Penryn from a foul blot — a public
disgrace, and the rescue of his cousin Ann
How Paul had worked, and saved, and
denied himself — how he had risen early and
retired to bed late — how he had counted
over that hoard every time he had added
to it — how he had rejoiced in the thought
of the joy, the comfort it would be to his
father's heart to know of its existence and
Let us bear all this in mind, and then
we shall not wonder that when the first
stunning shock passed away, Paul staggered
to a chair, hid his face in his hands, and
burst into tears, while he moaned out the
words, " My father ! my poor dear
But this mood did not last Xow^.
The thought that he had been robbed
dashed across his mind, and at the same
instant he associated that robbery with the
down-looking *' rough" who occupied the
" I will go to the police station at once,"
thought Paul as he dashed away his tears,
and the hot flush of anger suffused his
How had the thief got into his room?
He had locked the door and left the kev
as usual on a nail in Mrs. Collins's parlour.
As he pondered on this, his eye fell on
several pieces of broken glass on the floor,
sparkling in the light of his candle, and
which lay on the carpet beneath the door
that communicated with the adjoining
We have said that in this very old-
fashioned house, as in almost all of the
same date, tlie space between the top of the
door and the ceiling was glazed. " That
ruffian," thought Paul, ''must have broken
the glass and let himself down into my
room through the aperture."
He rang the bell.
The little maid came in.
" Where is your mistress?'' said Paul.
'' Missus is gone out to see a dying friend
in the neighbourhood, but she left word
she should be in very soon — she shouldn't
be gone more than an hour, and she's been
away two hours if not more, sir."
The girl retired.
Paul thought to himself, " Perhaps I had
better wait a few minutes to consult with
her what I had best do. She knows better
than I do to whom I ought to apply. In
the mean time Pll try to look into the next
Paul pushed a cliest of drawers to the
door, put a table on them, and a chair on
He clambered on to the chair, and by
the light of the moon (which shone in at
the window of the ruffian's room) he saw
exactly the same pile of furniture as that
on which he stood, at the other side of the
" There is no doubt now," thought Paul
to himself, " that the robber got in at the
broken window and let himself down into
my room, but how he got out again I can-
not guess, unless the key of his room un-
He descended from the top of the pyramid
he had raised, and examined the lock of the
He tried his own key — it fitted the lock.
Paul strode up and down his room in a
fever of impatience and an agony of grief.
" I may get the villain punished," he
thought, '' but I shall never get my money
back. I have heard that stolen money is
hardly ever recovered. Oh, my dear, dear
father! w^hy did I not put this money —
yoicr money, for it was yours — my heart
had destined, consecrated it to you — why
did I not put it in the bank ? By my own
carelessness and folly I have ruined my
father. I will go to the police at once. I
am losing precious time. Engrossed by
the thought of Mary, by my selfish passion
for her, I did not reflect on the danger of
having so much money in the closet with
such a rough, villanous-looking fellow in
the next room. I dare say he has seen me
count that money over and over again. By
climbing up to that glazed partition he
could count it too. I cannot wait any
longer; I will consult the first policeman I
meet; but I fear I have not a chance of re-
coverino; a shillino;/'
''AYhat a lovely night," he said to him-
self, as he opened the window and looked
into the now quiet street, spiritualized
by the silver lights and ebon shadows.
"How lovely the river looks! it reminds
me of the sea at dear, dear Pen combe. To
gaze on the sky and the river, who would
think what crime and misery there is in
this dreadful world! Oh, my poor dear
father! in spite of all my efforts, all my
prayers, all my labour, it is very likely that
you will be held up to this bad world as one
of the worst and meanest of its criminals —
as a wretch who has robbed his orphan
niece to enrich himself I must be up
and doing, or I shall go mad !"
Paul seized his hat, and rushed down
stairs. As he opened the street door he
met Mrs. Collins.
She looked very pale, and her eyes were
red with weeping.
" Oh, sir," sobbed Mrs. Collins, " I could
not come before. I was called away to the
death-bed of my old friend, Mrs. Trevor.
She came from my part of the country, and
we were neighbours there and neighbours
here, and now she's gone, poor dear ! And
she died so unkimmon hard I couldn't get
away before, else I did want to run home
to tell you all about it, for fear you'd get
a fright when you found it was gone."
" It is worse than a fright to me, Mrs.
Collins," said Paul. " I want you to tell
me where the police-station is ; I must go
there at once ; not that there is much chance
of getting back money stolen in that way."
'^ Lauk-a-daisy," said Mrs. Collins, ''I
do think Pm losing my poor wits. Dearee
me, I hav'n't told you that your strong box
is safe in my keeping."
'' What do you mean?'^ cried Paul — " in
" Yes, sir, I had my suspicions about that
down-looking lodger of mine, for to-day,
after you were gone out, I was tidying up
a bit in your room, and suddenly chancing
to look up at the glass window over the
door, I see his bad face there. I made
believe I'd seen nothing, and his face dis-
appeared; but I thought to myself that
means mischief, and so I very quietly re-
moved your money-box, and locked your
door on the outside. Well, sir, just
before I was sent for to my poor dying
friend I ran up to see if all was right, and
then I found the glass over the door all
smashed, and the closet forced open; but
luckily no harm done, owing to my having
carried your strong box into my room, and
hid it up where no one but myself could
ever find it. That villain of a fellow has
taken French leave, sir, and has made off
without paying me for the last week ; but
I'm thankful to be rid of him at any rate.
And now sir, I'll just go and get you your
box ; and if 370u'li take my advice, you 11
put your money into some savings'-bank or
other, for it's never safe to keep money by
one, either in town or country. It ain't
safe in the country^ 'cause of the loneliness ;
'taint safe in town, 'cause of the numbers of
people about, and so many of 'em thieves
and vagabones !"
Paul, with a light heart, hurried back to
his room, and soon his precious hoard was
again in his own keeping — all the more
precious in his eyes for the agony the idea
of its loss had caused him.
' But YOU who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,
Be sure yourself and your own reach to know.
How far your genius, taste, and learning go ;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet.
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet."
JE. PEMBERTON, who had a great
appreciation of humour, was very
much amused by Paul's lively ac-
count of his adventures at the Cheajmde
office, and his clever mimicry of that Oily
Gammon "the Conductor."
" Of course, my dear Paul," said Mr.
Pemberton, " as you have undertaken to
write another tale for that humbug, you
must keep your word ; but it will never do
to waste your time in that way. The pa}-
would be beggarly even for those poor
fellows wlio only translate and compile,
and whose whole stock-in-trade consists of
a reading-ticket for the British Museum;
but you, who have had a first-rate classical
education, who have original genius and
cultivated taste, you must, if you write at
all, get paid as much per page as this skin-
flint of a fellow would pay you per sheet —
ay, and a good deal more too. I am inti-
mate with the editors of two of our first-
class reviews. I occasionally contribute to
them myself Here is a work I had under-
taken to review for the Q . You shall
do it. I will call on the editor when it is
done, and if it is done as I think you will
do it, my dear boy, you Avill probably find
a cheque for twenty-five pounds in the letter
in which my learned friend will acknow-
ledge the receipt of your reviews But now
mind — -festina lente. Don't put it off, but
don't hurry it. Remember Boileau's ad-
" Vincjtfois sur le metier remettez voire courage,
Polissez-le, et le re^Jolissez ;
Ajoutez quelqiiefois, et souvent effacez F'
*' Oh, sir," said Paul, " I much fear that
in your great kindness and partiality you
overrate my poor powers. I have no idea
how to set about writing a review."
" Confound it, sir," replied the irascible
Mr. Pemberton, his eyes flashing, his colour
rising, and the veins on his bald head
filling with hot blood ; " confound it, young-
sir, don't you know that Dr. Samuel John-
son, the Colossus of Literature, said — ' No-
thing would ever be undertaken if every
possible objection were first to be over-
come.' Why, it's ten thousand times more
difiScult to write the smallest readable tale,
poem, or essay yourself, than to write the
most elaborate critique of the work of
another. Read through those numbers of
the Q and the E . You'll soon
get into the knack and swing of the thing.
I've no patience with you, sir," added old
Pemberton, growing furious at Paul's
modest scruples and coy delay. " Promise
me you'll go into that room and set about
it at once, or Pll throw all the books out of
Paul, to quiet his irascible and zealous
old friend, at once agreed to do his best.
Old Pemberton, quite in his element,
walked up and down the room in a fever of
impatience, piled up Paul's table with
books of reference, suggested this quota-
tion, that line of argument, and drove Paul
almost mad by asking him every five
minutes how he was getting on, and de-
siring him, as soon as he had Avritten his
opening, to let him hear it.
Luckily for Paul, in the midst of this
martyrdom dinner was announced, and old
Pemberton, much pleased with Paul for the
earnestness with which he had set to work,
and the rapidity with which his pen had
dashed along several pages of foolscap,
" You sliall read your opening to me
after tea, Paul, my dear boy."
They then went downstairs together to
" Where ever noblest things find vilest using !"
lORD DERWENT ^vas at this
time in a very wretched state of
Passionately devoted as he was to a son
who in his every word, thought, and action
seemed to be half an angel already, Lord
Derwent was, unconsciously to himself, led
occasionally from the miry paths of Sin
and worldliness to a brief sojourn in purer
and holier scenes.
His was now the position of some blind
captive in a haunt of hideous peril and
loathsome crime, to whom an occasional
glimpse of light and sight are granted.
As his beautiful and beloved boy spoke
of heavenly things with that serenity which
Faith alone can give, the thought of a future
state, hitherto sedulously banished from
Lord Derwent's mind, would present itself,
and among the torturing ideas it sug-
gested was this: '^ Such a spirit as Jasper's
must be immortal, and destined to eternal
happiness. Evil as mine is, I feel it can
never die; what then if he is right,
and the pure in heart alone shall see
God; we shall be separated through all
And this idea of eternal separation from
Jasper, had more effect on Lord Derwent's
heart and mind than any other considera-
tion connected with his own immor-
Paul was not mistaken in his conviction
that it was Lord Derwent whom he had
seen at Paul's Wharf in earnest conver-
sation with his evil, down-looking fellow
That lodger was, as tlie reader will have
guessed, Dan Devrill!
Some desperate acts of his, had compelled
him to leave the neighbourhood of Pen-
combe for a time, and like many other
scoundrels he had found London to be his
It was convenient to him also, as aiFord-
ing him easy access to Lord Derwent, who
could not bear to absent himself from his
son for one unnecessary hour.
Dan Devrill, who either believed or
aiFected to believe tiiat the days of the old
Earl of Altamount were numbered, was
very urgent with Lord Derwent to give
him carte hlanclie as to the disposal of
Minna — by right Lady Derwent.
"I knows Kit Koffin, my lord," he said,
" and she often do hire Kit and his boat to
take her out for a sail by moonlight, when
the Yicar happens to dine out, or go from
home for a few days. Now I can twist Kit
round my little finger. In a week or two
I can get back to the old place on the sly,
and some day when she've appinted Kit to
take her out for a sail, I'll get him to let me
take his place. She'll take no notice — she
don^t know me ; but onst I've got her out
at sea I can either get her off to Rotterdam,
as you planned out, last month, or — " and
his voice sank into a whisper, " she can go
a longer journey, and never bother you no
more — nor come back to dis2:race Master
Jasper, and make him curse the day as
ever he was born to be scouted as a
bastard !" ,
Lord Derwent grew deadly pale as he
listened, but his purpose was not shaken ;
he would not put such an eternal barrier
between himself and his son as he felt
murder would raise.
" I will not be accessary to her death,"
he said; "but if you can ensure her safe
arrival at Rotterdam, and can consign
her to the care of Vaneck, at the ' Garden
of Eden,' your reward shall be double what
I once proposed to you when first you con-
vinced me that she still survived. llovr-
ever, I do not wish to do anything in
haste. You need not stir in this matter
until you hear from me agahi. 1 must run
down to the Castle to see exactly in what
state my father is, and on what I see there,
will depend my future movements. AVhere
shall I write to you — to Thames Street?"
" No, my lord, I shan't hang out there
any longer at present. The old cat looks
queer, and it doesn't do for me to be too
long at a time in one place; a line to this
address will always find me, my lord ;" and
Dan gave Lord Derwent a dirty scrap of
Soon after this, Lord Derwent threw
himself into a Hansom cab, and dashed
ofi* towards Grosvenor Square, and Dan
said to himself, "Let me once get his wife,
his true lawful wife, into my boat, and out
at sea, and I'll do him a better turn than
taking her to Rotterdam, and he'll think
SO too when it's all over. I can't think
what's come to my lord; he's not half the
spirited chap he wor. He's all for half-and-
half measures now, and they never did no
good to no one, and never wont, but I'm a
reg'lar go-a-head out-and-outer, 1 am, and
I wont stand on no repairs if I once get my
lady out at sea ! I owes her and her stiff-
necked old dad manv a o-rudo-e, and I'll
pay 'em all off, and no mistake, when once
she's in my boat!"
* * * *
When Lord Derwent reached Altaniount
House, Grosvenor Square, he found Jasper
looking and feeling very ill, so much so
indeed that he had felt quite unequal to
sitting up, and had returned to his own
A terrible thought crossed the mind of
Lord Derwent, that perhaps there might be
an All-seeing, Omnipotent, Omnipresent
Being cognizant of his recent nefarious
meeting with Dan Devrill, and able to
punish him if he chose, by taking away
his son, or increasing that beloved one's
'' This is all superstition, weakness, and
folly," he said to himself " Even if Jasper
is right, and an immortality of bliss or
anguish awaits us all, is it likely a God of
Justice would punish the son for his
father's fault ! But Jasper is making an old
woman of his father!" But still the lono^-
slumbering conscience, too ready to nurse
itself to sleep again, had been aroused !
Oh, how terrible is the waking of a
guilty conscience that has slept for twenty
years. How soon after it has once been
aroused, it starts from its brief repose
again, and what an undying worm, or
rather adder, does it become! Into what
dark recesses, full of forgotten crimes,
sins, and shortcomings does that terrible
inquisitor — an evil conscience — hold the
newly kindled lamp of truth, and how care-
fully — in spite of the lapse of years, and
tide of time — memory has stored up every
hideous relic of the guilty past !
* * * *
To every eye but Lord Derwent's there
^vas a change for the worse in poor
His cough was more troublesome, his
appetite very capricious, his beautiful eyes
were brighter, his cheek — so thin and
hollow — was alternately ghastly pale and
He was more and more gentle, kind, and
heavenly in his conversation and his con-
duct, and there was something inexpres-
sibly touching, sublime, and poetical in his
language. It was evident that his thoughts
were always dwelling on the Future.
That Future spread bright and fair before
the pure-hearted, pious youth ; but, oh I
how terrible a subject of contemplation
was it to Lord Derwent !
Quite unconscious of this, and believing
his father to be as good and religious as
himself, Jasper would often ask liiin to
read aloud to him such works as a true
believer, conscious that his time on earth
would not be long, would feel a deep in-
Old Jeremy Taylor's " Holy Living and
Dying," " Paley's Evidences," and even
Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," were thus
gently forced on the attention of Lord
Derwent, who could not bear to refuse any
request of Jasper's, and who thus learnt to
believe and tremble, Avhile his young son
only found in every new argument fresh
food for hope.
Jasper was by this time, alas ! much
weaker. He now only came downstairs in
time for dinner, and soon it fatigued him
too much to sit up to the dinner-table.
So he lay propped up by pillows on a sofa,
and had a small table placed by his side,
on which his meals were served.
By degrees the fatigue of walking up and
down stairs became too much for him.
It brought on pains in his chest and
severer fits of couo^hino;.
Lord Derwent, to spare his beloved son
this extra fatigue and suffering, would
carry him up and down stairs.
He would not trust this precious bur-
then to any of the men-servants. Alas,
poor Jasper! wasted as he was, was not
Lord Derwent's anxiety became intense.
Dr. H 's opinion was far from favour-
able; and in the midst of this intense
anxiety about his son, Lord Derwent re-
ceived a telegram from Altamount Castle,
to say that the Earl (his father) had had
another and severer fit, and that his imme-
diate presence was required.
On the day of the receipt of this telegram
there was a little change for the better in
Jasper's fluctuating symptoms, and he
himself urged his father so earnestly to
lose no time in setting off for Altamount
Castle, and declared that he felt himself
VOL. III. 6
SO very much better that Lord Derwent
Before his departure he sent for Mary
Lynn to his study, and made her promise
to write to him morning and evening
during his absence — to telegraph to him
directly if Dr. H , who promised to see
Jasper every day, saw any change for the
worse — and in fact Lord Derwent wound
up by saying—
" I feel as if I were leaving my beloved
boy with a devoted sister."
CHAPTER VIII. .
" Then wherefore tarry, Death, upon the wing,
Since 'tis thro' thee that we can never die;
Oh, blessed thought that robs thee of thy sting,
And of the grave destroys the victory !
Oh, blessed thought that makes us still endure
The angry tempests of this world of strife.
Behold ! beyond the shadowy vale, the pure
Translucent waters of Eternal Life !
Come then and take us where our loved ones are ;
Oh lead us to them with thy gentle hand;
And Faith, refulgent as the Morning Star,
Guide thou our footsteps to the Promised Land !"
William: Goedox Smythies : Golden Leisures.
HEN Lord Derwent arrived at
Altamount Castle he found the old
Earl (his father) had rallied con-
siderably, and was no longer in any
He knew his son, and expressed very
great satisfaction and even joy at his unex-
pected presence. He said he had many
things of importance to discuss as soon as
his head was a little clearer; and he held
Derwent's hand, as the latter stood by his
bedside, as if afraid that he would leave
Lord Derwent, finding his father so much
better than he had anticipated, greatly re-
gretted having left his son ; but fortunately
Mary Lynn's accounts of Jasper were ver}'
L'l that dreadful disease which almost
always fixes on the loveliest, the dearest,
and the best, there are fluctuations so in-
comprehensible, so unaccountable, and
which seem sent only to inspire hopes that
render the ultimate despair more madden-
One of these strange fluctuations had
taken place in Jaspers health since his
father had left town.
He had been able on a very fine day to
drive out in the Park, and to walk a little
in the sun.
His appetite had been better, and he had
written a few very encouraging and aifec-
tionate lines to his father in Mary Lynn's
Comforted and reassured by this good
news, and finding great arrears of im-
portant local business to attend to. Lord
Derwent resolved to stay a few days at the
Jasper had begged him on no account to
leave the Earl till he was out of danger;
and Lord Derwent made arrangements for
a day of business with the Earl's agent and
steward, and planned a ride through the
estate, which had long been unwatched by
the master's eye.
Lady Derwent was cold and sullen.
She had long been brooding over her
jealous hatred of Mary Lynn.
She had written several times to Lord
Derwent to beg him to send her permission
and money to come to town.
Lord Derwent, who hated her, was very
unjust and tyrannical in his conduct towards
her. He kept her almost without money ;
and thoroughly believing that Mary Lynn's
presence was Jasper's greatest comfort, and
that his mother, by her conduct to Mary,
would excite and irritate Jasper, and drive
the gentle, devoted girl away from his side,
had expressly forbidden her ladyship to
leave the castle.
" Dear Augusta," he had written to her
from London, " we cannot both of us leave
my father, and I will not leave Jasper unless
my father were so much worse as to necessi-
tate my doing so. You have often added
greatly to our beloved son's sufferings by
your jealousy and your insulting behaviour
to his gentle and devoted companion-nurse,
Mary Lynn. Dr. H advises, above all
things,^ that he should be kept cheerful and
quiet. You know that it is not in your
nature to be either, or to allow others to be
so. If Jasper were in any danger, I should
consider it a duty to send for you ; and if, as-
I trust and hope will be the case, a winter in
the South sets him up again, I will allow
you to join him there ; but at present you
could do him no good, and might do him a
great deal of harm. Therefore, while I am
here, I must insist on your remaining at
Altamount Castle, where I hope you will
devote your time and attentions to my
" Yours affectionately,
It was certainly very cruel and arbitrary'
of Lord Derwent thus to banish a mother
from a suffering son's presence; but to
those who knew what Lady Derwent really
was, his conduct in this respect did not seem
unwise or unjustifiable.
Mean, selfish, cruel, and egotistical, pas-
sionately jealous and outrageously vain,
Lady Denvent was the worst person in the
Avorld to have the care of a very sensitive,
delicate patient like Jasper Ardennes.
In her youth she had been a very bril-
She had been spoilt by her parents and
by a host of lovers and flatterers.
She had jilted a man who adored her,
and to whom she had been engaged for two
years, in order to marry, as she believed,
Neither he nor she had any idea that he
w^as not free to marry her.
She had never heard of his first marriage,
and he fully believed that Minna had been
lost at sea, when the Golden Bengal was
Lady Derwent's first lover shot himself
in his despair, and she w^as proud of this
terrible proof of his mistaken devotion and
of her own charms.
Lady Derwent's beauty did not last.
It derived its principal charm from its
peerless bloom, its brilliancy of colouring.
Fraicheur and a delicate degree of embon-
point, redundant tresses of golden-brown,
rippled and silky, beautiful bright eyes
of a forget-me-not blue, full scarlet lips,
and even, sparkling teeth of pearly white —
these, with fair features, high spirits, and
great coquetry, were Miss Montresor's
She was a perfect Hebe in form and face
when Lord Derwent, then the Hon. Jasper
Ardennes, proposed to her, and when
George Danvers, (a lieutenant who was
waiting for a captainc}',) shot himself for
love and grief.
Alas! with youth and health all Lady
Derwent's beauty vanished.
What is Hebe but an incarnation of
youth and health !
After the birth of her third child Lady
Derwent became sallow, thin, sickly, sullen,
verycross, very irritable, jealous, and spiteful.
The climate of India had affected her
She lost her splendid hair, her exquisite
teeth, her bloom, and her embonpoint ; and
with those charms she lost her husband's
love and all hold upon him.
She tried all the resources of art.
They made her passable.
They could not make her beautiful.
She had never had any charms of mind,
or any amiable qualities.
She had a sort of animal affection for her
son, and a worldly pride in him as the heir
to an earldom and a fine estate; but a more
disagreeable, perverse, ill-tempered, mean-
spirited tyrant did not exist than Lady
Derwent at the time of which we write.
" Trifles light as air
Are to the jealous confirmation i^trong
As proofs of holy writ."
ADY DERWENT was more than
ever jealous of Mary Lynn and of
the great importance which Lord
Derwent attached to the bulletin which
came every morning and evening in the
shape of a letter from Marj'- to his lord-
Miss Osgood was still, as ever, Mary^s
best friend and bravest champion.
Her long residence in the family, and
her very resolute, dauntless character, gave
her an influence and importance not often
accorded to a governess in a family of high
It was Miss Osgood who had insisted
on Mary Lynn's being treated, in spite of
her low birth, as a lady when she became a
sort of sub-governess at the Castle. " Edu-
cation, by refining Mary Lynn's manners,
tastes, and fieelings, has made her a gentle-
woman," she would say ; " therefore she
must be treated as she would be in any
other family where her parentage was
unknown. She is very useful here, but if
she is to be snubbed, slighted, and insulted,
I shall send her to Lady Clanhenry, who is
very anxious to have her."
It was thus Miss Osgood established
Mary's footing at the Castle.
Since her absence she had always taken
her part, and as Lord Derwent insisted on
the presence of Miss Osgood and her pupils
every evening, to avoid a tete-a-tete with his
wife, there had been frequent discussions
about Mary Lynn, in which the friendship
of Miss Osgood and the esteem of Lord
Derwent did battle with the ill-will, jea-
lousy, and hatred of Lady Derwent.
Mary, in order to comfort the anxious
father as much as she possibly could during
the absence, which she knew to be such a
protracted agony to him, entered into every
little detail connected with her invalid
Mary had the delightful and easy grace
of Madame de Sevigne in recording the
little events of every day, the sapngs and
doings of the loved one, the trifling inci-
dents and remarks which form the staple
of domestic life in a sick-room. Lord
Derwent would peruse and re-peruse these
letters of Mary Lynn's with the most
Sometimes the colour would suffuse his
pale cheek, sometimes a smile would play
on his lips, sometimes a spasm would con-
tract his brow, and a sigh issue from his
All these evidences of absorbed interest
and emotion Lady Derwent, while pretend-
ing to busy herself with other things, would
note with a watchful eye and register with
a jealous heart.
Lord Derwent never handed one of
Mary Lynn's letters to her ladyship, al-
though he did sometimes say, " Jasper is a
little better;" or "Dr. H thought there
was a trifling improvement yesterday;" or
"Jasper took a drive and rather enjoyed
it;" but he never said, "Would you like
to hear or to see what Mary says about our
This reticence wrought Lady Derwent's
weak, vain mind and strong passions up to
such a pitch that she resolved, for the first
time in her life, on an act of independence
and disobedience to her tyrant's express
The fact was, Lady Derwent, like many
other fine ladies, was a good deal in awe of
her own maid.
This maid, a certain Miss Susan Switch,
a very expert and accomplished abigail,
not only possessed all the secrets of her
lady's toilet and " make-up," and was ne-
cessary to their adjustment, but she had
lent Lady Derwent certain sums at usurious
interest, and had besides obtained the
knowledge of a sad weakness, or rather
sin, into which Lady Derwent, in her lone-
liness, ennui, and despair, had fallen —
namely, that of the private indulgence in
Miss Switch thus had her lady com-
pletely in her power.
Lady Derwent dreaded her lord much,
but she dreaded Switch more.
Switch was very jealous of Mary Lynn,
of her position in the family, of her stay in
London, and projected tour on the Conti-
nent; and Switch was in love with the
footman who always remained at Alta-
Added to this, Switch had a mother, a
nurse — a better sort of Sairey Gamp — and
Switcli wished to see lier mother estabhshed
as Jasper's nurse.
To carry out all her schemes, Switch
worked on her lady's jealousy of Mary
Lynn and on her fear of herself, to induce
her to defy, outwit, and disobey Lord Der-
Switch provided the necessary money,
and worked upon Lady Derwent so suc-
cessfully, that one day, after Lord Derwent
had seemed more than usually interested
in, and delighted by, a very long letter
from Mary Lynn, Lady Derwent retired to
her own apartments directly after break-
fast, helped Switch to pack up her things,
and as soon as she had ascertained that
Lord Derwent had gone out, ordered her
carriage, drove to the station, and set off
with her abigail for London.
* « * *
The day upon which Lady Derwent took
this decisive step was that on which Lord
Derwent had resolved to ride over the
-estate in company with his agent and his
The Earl was fortunate in having in his
■service men of probity, attached to his
interests and to himself.
Lord Derwent found everything in ad-
mirable order and in a flourishing con-
Xo tenants had to complain of oppres-
sion, and none were in arrears.
"What a noble estate it is," thought
Lord Derwent; "and if Jasper is but
spared to inherit it one day, what a noble
use he will make of the princely income
w^hich will then be his. Ah, and that re-
minds me that unless Minna is removed in
time, she, on my father's death, both can
iind will prove herself my wife, and thus
prevent the possibility of Jasper's ever
<ioming into the title or estates, for she
cannot prove herself my wife without also
proving my marriage with Jasper's mother
VOL. 111. 7
null and void, and all my children by that
union illegitimate ! I should care very
little about it were it not for my son, my
beloved Jasper. Such a discovery would
be the most terrible punishment that could
be inflicted on the most unamiable, selfish,
and ill-tempered woman in the world. She
who now supposes herself to be Lady
Derwent never had anything to recommend
her but her once brilliant beauty and
bloom. Of that beauty there is now not
one trace. Minna had beauty of a higher,,
though not so dazzling a kind; and Minna
had a noble, loving heart, a sweet, unselfish,
devoted nature, a fine and cultivated mind.
If it were not for Jasper I would let
matters take their course. I would much
rather see Minna a countess than the per-
verse, selfish, and jealous Augusta. I
married the latter under the firm conviction
that I was a widower, and therefore I am
not to blame. But though I should be
glad to see Augusta punished and disgraced,.
I could not survive my Jasper's ruin, nor
bear to see him cast down from his present
proud position as future Earl of Altamount,
and branded with illegitimacy — he who,
like the ermine, would pine to death for a
single stain. Xo, rather than any disgrace
or sorrow should assail Jasper, I would
have all the women in England banished,
ay, and beheaded, Minna and Augusta
among them ; and therefore I must com-
municate with Dan Devrill. What is done,
had better be done quickly, but I will have
no bodily injury inflicted on the poor
creature. She shall be safely conveyed
to Rotterdam; she shall be lodged at
Vaneck's, and every comfort and luxury
shall surround her; and there she must
remain during the remainder of her life,
for she must never come back to disgrace
and degrade my admirable and beloved
Lord Derwent returned home to dinner,
and on inquiring for Lady Derwent heard
she had gone out, and had not returned,
and that she had left word that his lordship
was not to wait dinner for her.
Lord Derwent supposed she was gone to
visit some one in the neiglibourhood, and,
on the whole, he was glad to be relieved
of her very unpleasant company for a few
hours. If he had had the least idea of the
fact, he would have been furious, for never
before had Lady Derwent ventured openly
to disobey him.
It was a lovely evening, and after dinner
Lord Derwent resolved to stroll out: by the
sea. Mary Lynn had begged him to
inquire for her, how her mother was,
as Rosy had said in her last letter that
their mother had been far from well of late.
" If," said Mary Lynn, in that very letter,
"your lordship would condescend to call
at our cottage and see my dear mother
yourself, and ask her how she feels, and tell
me how she looks, I should feel very
grateful, for alas ! my lord, in every letter
I have had from home of late, some mention
has been made of mother's not being well,
and I think they do not tell me «//, for fear
of distressing me. But I trust to you, my
lord, to let me know exactly how dear
mother really is ; it is mistaken kindness,
indeed, to deceive one on such a r^ry, very
important matter. I know you will think
so, my lord ; and 1 trust to your lordship's
great kindness to find out the truth, and to
let me know it as soon as convenient."
Lord Derwent thus urged, and feeling
grateful to Mary Lynn for her devoted atten-
tion and unvarying kindness to Jasper, set
out on foot after dinner, on the day of Lady
Derwent's departure, to call at Xatt Lynn's
cottage in the Cliifs.
It was a lovely evening.
August was drawing to a close, and the
rich tints of early autumn were beginning
to variegate the trees of the park and plan-
tations, as Lord Derwent strolled through
them on his way down to the sea !
Nothing could exceed the beauty of the
ancestral trees and the wide domain of
Altamount at this lovely season ; and Lord
Derwent, as he gazed on the old brown
towers and parapets of the massive pile, on
the noble extent of pasture and forest land,
on the deer playing at bo-peep, on the
cattle grazing, the flocks browsing, and the
pleasant farms nestling in snug nooks and
dotting the distant landscape with their
white walls and thatched roofs, — thought
not of the real possessor of all these " good
thino;s," who was Ivino- half imbecile and
paralysed in his darkened chamber, but of
his beloved Jasper, whom he persisted in
looking upon as almost certain to recover,
and to be one day lord of this noble
The sun was setting like an Eastern
monarch retiring to rest, in a canopy of
purple, crimson, and gold; and the moon
was rising pale and wan in the cold and
colourless East, as Lord Derwent passed
through a iield where Jasper's pony was
grazing, and came suddenly upon a mag^
nificent view of the sea, whose calm ripples
were flooded with the rich and varied hues
reflected from the sunset.
Lord Derwent paused a moment to ad-
mire this exquisite scene, and then he
hurried down to the beach and took his way
to Natt Lynn's cottage.
Xatt Lynn was from home, but Rosy re-
ceived his lordship and told him that
'' Mother was very bad — that for some
weeks she had been in a very low, nervous
state, and seemed to have something on her
mind; — at any rate, that for the last few
days she had talked a great deal about
' Mary,' and had said that she wanted badly
to see her. I have not told Mary that
mother wants to see her, my lord," said
Rosy, " because, as I hear Master Jasper's
so bad, I thought she couldn't well be
spared ; but father said this morning that if
mother went on fretting about Mary, she
must come home to see what she could do
to quiet and comfort mother."
" I hope that will not be necessary, my
pretty one !" said Lord Derwent. " I don't
know what my son would do without Mary
to read to him and sit with him ! I hope
your mother has every comfort, and that it
is not anything about money matters that
preys on her mind. I know your father
lost his new boat, and perhaps your mother
takes that to heart?"
" Mother says everything has gone w^rong
lately, my lord, ever since Mary left us.
Our cows have died of the cattle plague,
father's lost his new boat, and he've had no*
luck with his fishing for many weeks.
Mother do take on and fret, and say it's
all her fault, though I'm sure she ain't to
blame, for never was there a more hard-
workino; woman than mother before she
was taken ill."
'' Well,*' said Lord Derwent, taking out
a ten-pound note, "give this to your
mother and tell her Lord Derwent is very
sorry to hear such a bad account of every-
thing; but that if she wants more, to set
matters right, she has only to let him know.
Take care of yourself, Rosy ; I should think
all the young fellows for miles round are in
love with you. They'll be catching you up
and running away with you some day,
"They'll soon set me down again, my
lord," said Rosy, blushing; "I've other
iish to fry."
Lord Derwent patted the peach-like cheek
of the young Hebe, and tempted by the
exquisite beauty of the sunset on the sea,
continued his walk along the shore.
What memories of the Past thronged his
brain, as he revisited the scenes associated
with his first wild love for Minna Tre-
How often had she wandered with him
at early dawn along this then enchanted
shore. How often had they gazed together
on as glorious a sunset, or watched the
moon rise, hand in hand.
There was a sort of seat among the cliiFs
formed by the hand of Nature, and carpeted
with soft green sod. A mass of rock sheltered
it from the view of any one coming towards
it from the village, as he was now doing ;
and Minna and himself had hedged it on
the other side by planting some graceful
tamarisk trees, which had taken root and
flourished wonderfully there.
Lord Derwent had never visited
^'Minna's Bower" since they were lovers,
but this evening he felt a strange desire to
see that once loved spot — an upward path
among the cliffs led to it.
Lord Derwent took that path, and arrived,
his steps unheard on the soft sand and
short sod, within view of Minna's bower.
The bower was not untenanted.
It seemed as if the ghost of his first love
— his wife — sat there !
A tall, very slender figure, robed in
black, was on that seat. She was pale as
the rising moon — her veil and bonnet
thrown off; her long black hair gently
stirred by the evening breeze; her thin
white hands clasped and her eyes cast
down ; — she seemed to be plunged in deep
and painful thought, absorbed by some
most mournful reverie ! — Changed as Minna
was from the blooming Diana she had
been when last Lord Derwent had seen her
on that spot, she was still a woman of rare
and captivating beauty.
The old love rushed back on Lord
Derwent's heart, and a wild remorse as he
thought of her passionate devotion — the
lofty truth — which had kept her silent for
eighteen long miserable years, and the wreck
he had made of his fortunes and her life, all
combined to stifle the voice of prudence ;
and rushing forward with a cry of pain,
Lord Derwent fell on his knees before
Minna and buried his face in her lap !
At that wild cry, Minna had looked up.
She had recognised her destroyer — her
husband — the lover of her youth ! And as
he knelt before her, covering her hands with
tears and kisses, the old love stole over her
What a mysterious, what an inscrutable
thing is the human heart ! and how impos-
sible is it for the wisest and most reflective,
to prophesy what that wayward organ may
2:)rompt its possessor to do or say, under
strong excitement and unforeseen temp-
For eighteen years ]\linna had never
thought of Lord Derwent, but as her cruel
oppressor, her destroyer — the foe at once
to her honour and her life.
Often had she figured to herself the
scorn, the vindictive hate, that would fill
her heart and prompt her words, were she
ever to find herself face to face with that
bad, remorseless man !
He is at her feet now, and all is for the
moment forgotten, and her tears fall like
rain on the head that lie buries in her
After a few moments Lord Derwent
rises, and standing erect before his wife,
who, her face hidden in her hands, is weep-
ing silently, he says —
'' Minna — my dear, my gentle Minna! —
why did you leave me? To that one error
all our misery is owing ! I believed that,
you had perished in the wreck of the
Golden Bengal ; and thou£':h it was, in spite
of our incompatibility of temper, a dread-
ful blow to my heart to think that I had
lost you for ever, yet it was in the firm
belief that I was a widower, that I married
There was a tone of reproach in these
words — an attempt to exonerate his cruel
guilty self, and ascribe all blame and fault
to his innocent victim — which at once
checked Minna's tears, and changed the
feelings from Avhich they sprang, from ten-
derness to resentment.
She dashed away the drops from her
eyes, and starting up she said —
"Is it possible that you can attempt to
excuse or justify your conduct to me?
What drove me from you? What made
me flee with my child from your terrible,
your dangerous presence? Have you for-
gotten your infamous cruelty to the ill-
fated woman who had trusted you so
entirely ? — who had left a happy home and
a proud, loving father, to follow 3^ou to a
land where, though your wedded w^ife, you
meanly made me pass as your mistress;
and where you dared to propose to me, to
give up my proofs of our secret marriage,
to make myself infamous, and to ruin my
child, in order that you might marry the
new idol of your sensual and inconstant
heart ! What could I do but fly from one
so cruel and so base ? I did not think my
life, or that of my child safe, w^hile in the
power of one who could make such an in-
famous proposal to his law^ful wife — the
mother of his child ! I feared you then,
for then a life far dearer to me than my own
was at stake. Now I am fearless, now I am
childless, — now I only live on in order to
clear my name — my father's name — from a
foul blot ! I do not covet a coronet and title,
but I do burn to be able to say to m}^ father,
' Father, I have not disgraced your ancient
name ! I married Jasper Ardennes — I am
his lawful wife. The woman who has so
long passed as Lady Derwent is — w^hat I
will not name; all his children by her are
illegitimate ; and had my girl — my darling
— been saved from the wreck she would be
sole heir of the title and estates of this
house — she would be one day Countess of
Altamount in her own right.'
"It is only to be able to say this to my
father that I have lived on, endured on; —
when I have proved to him that his only
child has not disgraced him, I hope this
wounded heart will break !''
Lord Derwent was sur[)rised at the
sudden change in Minna's tone and manner.
He had hoped that all spirit had died out
of her half-broken heart — that, crushed and
bowed down as she was, he should have
been able by a few honeyed words to mould
her to his purpose.
He found her, in spite of the emotion
that had overcome her when first he knelt
weeping at her feet, full of the sense of her
unparalleled wrongs, resolute to clear her
name and fame from a foul blot, strong in
filial piety and the sense of what she owed
to the proud father who, in spite of her in-
gratitude, deceit, and folly, had taken her
back to his heart and home, unquestioned
" Minna !" at length he said, " listen to
me. I acknowledge the truth of all you
say. You have acted nobly, bravely,
sublimely; you have kept your vow, and
now that the day is at hand when you will
be released from the obligation of keeping
it any longer, my fate, my fortunes, my
character, are in }'our hands. Be it so,
Minna — never to save them would I implore
you still to keep the secret of our private
marriage ; but oh ! Minna, there is one ten
thousand times dearer to me than myself,
one whom I love as you loved that dear
child we lost in the wreck — I speak of my
son, a noble, proud, and most virtuous
youth, brought up to believe himself the
la^^-fal heir to the title and estates of Alta-
mount. Minna, for him I plead, for him
I kneel and weep. His state is precarious;
he is, alas! consumptive; a shock might
snap in a moment the slender thread of his
existence. Minna, if our child had lived,
I would not — I could not — have asked you,
by your silence, as to our private marriage,
to wrong, to defraud our child; but as she
is no more, I do implore you to keep our
secret still, unless it is God's will to take
my son. If he dies, if I am to lose him,
then do as you will, I will put no impedi-
ment in the way of your proving yourself
VOL. in. S
my wife. Nay, I will aid you to vindicate
your honour, for I would much rather see
you, my still lovely and beloved Minna, in-
stalled as Countess of Altamount, than the
hard-hearted, perverse, and hateful woman
who now supposes herself to be my
wife ! For my other children I care
little. They must be provided for, and
they are too young to feel their degrada-
tion ; but m}^ boy, my noble Jasper, it
would kill him to know that he is illegiti-
mate, that his mother was not, could not
have been wedded to me, since my lawful
wife was alive when she stood at the altar
hy my side. The law and the world will
not take into account that both Augusta
and myself were ignorant of your existence,
Minna. But on my noble and innocent
son the blow will fall most heavily, if God
spares his life. Minna, I implore you spare
it too ! If he is to be taken from me, then
assert our marriage, prove and claim your
rights, and drive the odious Augusta from
the place and position to which you alone
are entitled. But oh! Minna, Minna, if
my son lives, and while he lives, keep the
secret still, I implore you !"
Lord Derwent knelt at Minna's feet as
he urged this prayer with clasped hands
and streaming eyes.
Minna was moved, but she thought of
She well knew that her father guessed
her secret, and the vow that bound her to
keep it during the old Earl's life, and that
the proud old man bore all, and lived on, in
the hope of the coming of that bright day
when the stain would be washed from his
ancient name, and he would be able to own
his daughter, and proclaim her not only
Countess of Altamount, but a woman of
spotless virtue and honour.
" Should I do right," she said to herseli^ .
*'to sacrifice the truth, my fair fame,
and my father to this wicked man's love
for his son? Ah, but for him I now
might have a daughter to love and com-
At length she said —
'' If you had only asked me to sacrifice
myself to your son, my lord, I might yield :
but you ask me to sacrifice the truth and
my father ! This I will not do ! He has
never questioned me, and if he had, I must
have kept my vow ; but I know he guesses
my secret and its conditions, and that for
years he has lived on in the hope of being
able before he dies to own his only child^
and to see her fame cleared and her rights
recognised. How can you ask me to sacri-
fice the best and noblest of fathers to the
worst of husbands, and to his son by
another woman? Away, my lord, I will
not listen to you. To you I owe eighteen
years of secret, silent anguish — to you I
owe the loss of my angel child — to you I
owe the misery of my own life and my
father's. I have kept my vow, and will
keep it still while the Earl lives, but
not one clay, not one hour, after his
" My father may live many years,
madam," said Lord Derwent, who had risen
from his knees, livid with rage and his eyes
'' As long as the Earl lives I shall respect
my vow, and keep the secret of our private
marriage," said Minna; "but not one hour
longer. And now I beg you to leave me.
My friends will probably come in search of
me, as they often do — and, in fact, I fancy
I see Natt Lynn's boat making for this
point. Natt Lynn often stops here on his
way home to take me back, if I am disposed
for a sail."
''Minna," said Lord DerAvent, "you
cannot be so changed. It is not in your
nature to be defiant, cruel, remorseless, and
i^elentless; you will not destroy my son?"
" I will not destroy my father, my lord,"
said Minna. " Directly I am released from
my vow I will proclaim the truth."
'^Farewell, then, madam," said Lord
Derwent ; " may you never bitterly repent
of your implacable and vindictive reso-
He strode away after lie had spoken
these words, and added to himself — " Fool,
she has sealed her own doom. Now I have
no choice but to arrange with Devrill
to carry her to Rotterdam ; and I must
write to Vaneck to tell him that although
I wish him to make her as comfortable as
possible, he has my free permission to use
any amount of restraint, coercion, and
severity he may deem necessary to prevent
her making any attempt at escape. I would
not any real harm should happen to her, and
for her lifelong incarceration in a madhouse
she has only her own obstinate, passionate
self to thank. But for her perverse folly I
could have loved her again. She is a noble^
beautiful creature ; and now at thirty-nine
she is in many respects handsomer than she
was in her early youth. As it is, I must
write at once to Devrill. My father, as his
physician says, may expire suddenly at any
hour of the day or night. It is not safe for
Minna to be at large any longer. I ought
to see Devrill here, and, if possible, learn
that Minna is at Rotterdam before I go
back to town. Wretched Minna, she has
accelerated her own fate. Devrill must
manage so that it shall be believed the boat
in which she sailed for a little excursion,
capsized, and that she was drowned. Her
stiff-necked, vindictive old father will not
long survive her; and Avith his death all
my danger will be at an end."
Lord Derwent, thus communing with
himself, hastened back to Altamount
Castle. There a letter awaited him, which
had arrived by the evening post from the
Lord Derwent recognised the weak,
cramped hand of Lady Derwent.
She said, that as she had made up her
mind to 2:0 to Town to see her son, she
had set off without informing his lordship
of her intention, as she wished to avoid all
discussion, and had resolved not any longer
to sacrifice her duty and inclination to his
violence and tyranny."
Lord Derwent's rage was as violent as it
was vain. There was no help for it; Lady
Derwent was gone, and he must stay where
he was, at least until he had seen and con-
sulted with Devrill — na}^, if possible, until
he knew that Minna was safe at Rotterdam,
and secure under the lock and key of
Vaneck, in his Dutch madhouse.
"You, the wanderer, sad though youthful,
In your short and fleeting spring,
Hold this motto, good and trathful.
It will consolation bring.
Trust in God."
WiLLiAiT GoEDOX SiiYTHiES : Golden Leisures.
AUL PENRYN liad spent the
evening at Altarnount House with
Jasper and Mary.
He had amused them with a lively
account of his interview with the Conductor
of the Cheapside^ and Jasper, not strong
enough to bear the noisy gambols of his
little sisters, had begged Mary to send
them, under the care of a servant, to romp
in the dinino:-room, while he took tea with
Paul and herself in the library.
It was a cold windy evening, and Jasper
was very chilly.
Mary had a cheerful fire lighted — and
the tea-table, at which she presided, drawn
up to the sofa on which Jasper lay. The
firelight played with a ruby and golden
glow on the backs of the rows of handsome
richly-bound books that lined the walls of
The crimson curtains were drawn, and
the scene was one of quiet comfort, very
soothing to an invalid !
Mary sat at the tea-table, prettily set
out with fresh flowers and tempting fruit.
" Dear friends," said poor Jasper, as he
sipped his tea — he ahvays felt more re-
freshed by tea than by any other beverage
— " lying here in such peace and comfort;
with such gentle hands to tend me, and
such loved voices to cheer me, I scarcely
feel my weakness and my pain, and could
almost sav with Paul's o-ood old hostess,
Mrs. Collins, that 'I enjoy very bad health.^
After all, there is a sort of luxury in being
so cared for, so petted ; but while I am
so cherished and comforted, so pampered
and so loved, I often think what must be
the misery of those poor creatures, who,
far worse in health than I am, have no
comforts, no quiet, no friends to cheer
and solace them, perhaps even no shelter
from the elements — is it not too dreadful?
If I ever live to be rich and powerful I
will build a Refuge for the Consumptive,
curable or incurable, and whatever their
antecedents. With no testimonials but their
sufferings, no introduction but their dis-
ease, they shall be welcome to a home
where all that can alleviate shall abound,
and where care for the future shall not be
allowed to add to the anguish of their pre-
sent pain. Mary! when tea is over I want
you to bring your desk, and Mr. Penryn,
who is such a ready reckoner, will help us
to make a calculation as to what the sort
of Refu2:e I mean would cost annually. If
I am not spared to establish it myself, I
shall make it a last request to my father
that he will, when he is the Earl of
Altamount, carry out this plan of mine,
and open a Home for the Consumptive in
memory of his son."
Mary Lynn's eyes tilled with tears as
Jasper said this, and even Paul felt that
his own were moist.
'' Don't let me sadden you, dear friends,"
said Jasper. " I think and trust I shall be
spared to see the fruition of my plan. I
feel so much better to-night, and the quiet
cheerfulness of an eveninn: with you is so
soothing to my spirit. When we have
made our calculation, Mary, you must sing
to us, while Mr. Penryn will perhaps draw
out a plan for my Eefuge."
The tea-tray was removed, the table was
cleared. Mary, with her desk before her,
drew out a scale of the expanses of a Re-
fuge for five hundred consumptive patients.
Jasper was much interested in the process,
and much animated by the discussions that
ensued. Seeing his eyes very bright and
his cheeks flushed, Mary, after about an
hour spent in planning and cah^ilating, j^ut
her desk aside, and begging Paul to draw a
sketch of the projected Refuge, she' shook
up Jasper's pillows, and told him he must
lie down and be very quiet, or else he
would be all the worse for the excitement,
and she should blame herself and be very
Jasper promised to lie down and be very
quiet, if Mary would sit by his side and
sing to him.
Mary complied, and at Jasper's request
sang all his favourite songs. Her exquisite
voice was equally sweet in "Kon piu
mesta" and in " Auld Robin Gray" — she
was delightful in the livehest French
chanson and in the most touching Irish
She had just begged Paul to hand lier
lier guitar, in order to accompany herself
wliile she sang a Spanish serenade, and
Jasper had just encored the beautiful song,
when a loud double-knock at the street
door startled the quiet, happy trio.
" My father !" said Jasper. " I heard a
carriage drive up. How glad he will be
to find me so much better !"
The door was thrown open, and Lady
''My beloved son!" cried her ladyship,
rushing up to Jasper and embracing him
theatrically, "why are you lying down?
Are you too weak to sit up? It is very
bad for you to be smothered in pillows and
shawls. Why do you sit in this small
room ? — and, for Heaven's sake, why have
"I am chilly, dear mother," said Jasper,
" and a fire is essential to my comfort. If
it is so hot and close, I am very sorry, for
the sake of those kind friends who have
borne it so patiently on my account, that I
selfishly forgot it might be too much for
them. Dear mother, you know Mary
Lynn, but I must introduce my friend Mr.
Paul Penryn. Don't go, Mr. Penryn !"
But Paul had risen, and saying — " I
must leave you now, Mr. Jasper Ardennes,"
had shaken hands with him and Mary,
bowed somewhat stiffly to Lady Derwent,
and took his leave.
" After such a long separation, Jasper,''
said Lady Derwent, " I want to have a
little private conversation with you."
Mary Lynn rose, blushed deeply, shook
hands with Paul and wished him good
night, and, bowing to Lady Derwent, was
about to retire, when Jasper said —
" But, Mary, you are not going for good,
are you? You will give me my medicine,
and help me upstairs, and do all the little
things that make me so comfortable !"
" My dear Jasper," said Lady Derwent,
*' I am come to establish myself here as
head-nurse, and whatever you require for
your comfort I will do for you. Lynn
need not trouble herself any more. You
have only to tell me what you want, and I
will do it for you. There is no nursing like
a mother's nursing, no love like a mother's
love. And now I wish to be alone with
you, my darling son. I have many things
to say to you which I do not want a
stranger to hear."
" But Mary is not a stranger, mother,"
said Jasper, tears filling his eyes, for his
nerves were very weak.
Mary had hurried out of the room, her-
self in tears.
" Then I wish she were, Jasper," said
Lady Derwent. " I do not approve of these
unequal friendships, nor can I conceive
why so proud and haughty a man as your
father should encourage you to treat as a
sister the daughter of Lynn the fisher-
"Oh, mamma, if you knew how kind.
how devoted Mary has been to me! I
don't care who her father is, she is an
"• My poor boy !" said Lady Derwent,
" you will find plenty of low-born ambi-
tious, interested baggages, who will try to
appear angels to the youug heir to an earl-
dom and fifty thousand per annum. But
pray who was that young man who was
making himself so completely at home
when I arrived?"
*' That is young Penryn of Penryn
Manor House, mother," said Jasper, much
excited, and yet sadly depressed. " He is
quite a gentleman, and my father likes him
very much, and has given him a general
invitation. His company enlivens me."
" Ah, you wont want him or that girl
Lynn, or any one else, now }'ou have me.
But I am faint with fatigue and fasting, so
I'll ring and have supper brought up
Jasper was in a very nervous state.
VOL. III. ' 9
Those accustomed to attend to him knew
this, and avoided everything hkely to worry
or distress him.
Lady Derwent, like all egotists, was very
deficient in tact, and had had no experience
She was abruj)t, angular, awkward.
She had a very shrill voice and a very
Jasper, accustomed to the graceful,
gentle ways of Mary Lynn, and the low
sweet music of her voice, felt, in his weak-
ness and his melancholy, irritated almost to
tears, by the uncomfortable change so sud-
denly carried out.
It worried him very much to think that
Mary had been so harshly, so insultingly,
driven from his side.
All peace, all comfort, for him were gone
Lady Derwent in beating up his pillows,
which she did in a very demonstrative and
awkward manner, had not only struck his
head with her sharp elbow, but she had so
disposed the pillows that he could not rest
Jasper was in a high fever, and his
cough, in consequence, became ver}^ trouble-
Lady Derwent was much more annoyed
than affected by that distresshig cough.
She kept on making a clicking noise with
her tongue, meant to be expressive of sym-
pathy, but in which Jasper's quick ear
detected a good deal of impatience.
At length, however, her ladyship's
supper was served.
She had ordered mock turtle soup and a
Lady Derwent was quite a gourmande,
and drank bottled stout, ordered by her
Like all egotists, Lady Derwent made a
great noise in eating and drinking.
The effect on Jasper was very distress-
The smell of the mock turtle soup quite
overj)Owerecl his weak nerves.
A footman, who was pouring out a foam-
ing glass of bottled stout for Lady Der-
went, hearing a low moan from the sofa^
dropped the bottle, for Jasper had fainted
Lady Derwent started up and uttered
scream upon scream ; both the footman and
herself thought Jasper was dead, and cer-
tainl}^, to all appearance, he was a corpse.
All the servants rushed in, for Lady
Derwent rang the bell violently and re-
peatedly, while the footman did what he
could to recover his young master.
Mary Lynn, hearing the shrieks of Lady
Derwent and the loud ringing of the bell,
rushed down in her white wrapper; her
hair, which she had been brushing, floating
about her form.
She alone preserved any degree of pre-
sence of mind, or could give any sensible
She had seen Jasper very near fainting
before, but she liad never seen him really
She sent a footman for the nearest
She loosened liis necktie.
She bathed his temples with eau de
Coloo:ne, and held strono^ salts to his
He had opened his eyes and spoken her
name, when ]\Ir. Parker, a young surgeon
from a street close by, was announced, and
he advised that Jasper should be taken at
once into a cooler room and put to
Mary, in spite of the snake-like ferocity
of Lady Derwent's glances, continued to do
all she could for Jasper, until he was suffi-
ciently recovered to retire to his bed-
" To what do you attribute this
swoon?" said Mary, to the medical
"Well, Miss," said Mr. Parker, a young
assistant-surgeon from a general prac-
titioner's, " excuse me, but the room's too
'ot, and there's a faintish smell of mock
turtle soup, which, though it's very pleasant
to the -strong and 'earty, might take effect
on any one in such a very weak state as
this young gentleman."
" I think it was the smell of the soup,'^
"Oh dear!" cried Lady Derwent, "I'm
very sorry if my supper has caused all this
commotion. Jones !" she cried, addressing
her own footman, " let my supper be taken
into my own boudoir, and let the soup be
made hot again. King for Garnet to come
to me, and help her to lay the cloth,
and be very careful to send the steak up
hot. I hope she has stewed some oysters
with it. I will stay here, Jasper, until
you feel equal to going to bed. By
the bye, wdio attends to you during the
" James, my own valet, sleeps in my
dressing-room, mamma," said Jasper.
" And where is he ? What is the reason
he is not in attendance?"
" I gave him leave to go out this evening,
" James is come in, sir," said Jones.
" Very well ; then I think I will go to
bed. Good night, mamma. Good night,
Mary. Remember I cannot do with-
out you. You must not forsake me,'"
he said. " I am so used to your
gentle nursing, I cannot dispense with
Lady Derwent statted up.
'' Good night, sir !" she said, in a
furious rage. " Of course you prefer
that fisherman's daughter and her nursing
to mine ! However, I'm mistress here,
and to-morrow I shall put matters on
a very different footing. At present
I'm too faint and weary to say or do
anv more !"
And Lady Derwent flounced out of the
Jasper, resting his head on Mary's
shoulder, burst into tears.
Slighted love is sair to bide."
R. PEMBERTON took a great
interest in Paul's literary debut.
He was himself a very elegant
scholar, and had contributed, at one time,
very largely to our quarterlies and month-
Accustomed to the gentlemanly, delicate,
and liberal manner in which the proprietors
of those high-class magazines conducted all
their affairs, Mr. Pemberton was much en-
raged and disgusted at the cheating and
insolent proceedings of the Conductor of the
Several violent bursts of passion were
the result of Paul's history of his ludicrous
interview with that Oily Gammon and
arch-humbug, the Conductor of the Cheap-
Mr. Pemberton was very anxious to
accompany Paul the next time he went to
the office of that magazine.
Paul was rather afraid to take his kind
old friend with him, for he knew how little
chance an honest-hearted man who puts
himself in a violent passion, has against a
deliberate, cold-blooded, self-satisfied pre-
Mr. Pemberton, however, flew into
such alarming fits of passion at Paul's
endeavouring to deter him from visiting
the Conductor, that he at last reluctantl}^
Mr. Pemberton's rage had been, if pos-
sible, increased by a letter which Paul had
received from the Conductor, and which
he had rather imprudently shown to Mr.
Pemberton. It ran thus : —
" The Cheajyside Office.
" My dear Sir, — Will you send the MS. of
your second little tale as soon as possible ;
so young a writer, and so new a hand,
should give us as much time as possible to
consult and consider how we can improve
and polish up those first efforts, which even
when indicative of genius must, in the
nature of things, be somewhat crude, and
require the watchful eye and pruning
hand of experience, before they are laid
before readers, so fastidious and discrimi-
nating as those of the Cheapside. At the
same time, aware how encouraging to the
tyro in authorship is any certainty of re-
muneration, I propose to you to bind
yourself to furnish me with twelve cols,
weekly for my cheap publications, and with
six pages monthly for my Cheapside^ for
the sum of HI. per month. I shall also
expect you to bind yourself not to write for
any other publisher so long as I wish to
retain your services. If you will call upon
me to-morrow, bringing with you the
' copy' of your second tale, I will have the
little bond I propose to you to sign, ready.
Wishingyou joy of so good an appointment
at the very beginning of your career,
" I am, my dear Sir,
" Your very sincere friend,
" Flummehy Foxwell."
''The rapacious, remorseless scoundrel!"
cried old Pemberton, with a terrible oath.
''Why, twelve columns of the small print
used in penny papers, and six pages of
magazine size, would compel you to work
like a galley-slave, and all for 21. a month.
How I should enjoy giving your fine ' Con-
ductor' the thrashing he deserves."
Paul, who was very much afraid that his
irascible friend might be provoked by the
cool effrontery and transparent humbug of
the Conductor into an assault, for which he
would, of course, have heavy damages to
pay, said all he could to deter him from
accompanying him. But Mr. Pemberton
was quite determined ; and the next day
being Saturday, and therefore a half-
holiday at Paul's office, it was decided that
they should go together to the Cheapside
office at 8 P.M.
While Paul and his old friend were
sitting together after dinner, Paul partaking
very sparingly, and his old friend rather
freely of the fine old port for which Mr.
Pemberton's cellar was famous, and of the
beautiful fruit fresh from his own country-
seat, the evenhig post brought Mr. Pem-
berton a letter.
It contained a cheque.
Mr. Pemberton handed the letter and
the cheque to Paul. It was from the editor,
to whom Paul's review had been sent.
In the most generous manner it praised
the style, the classical knowledge, and the
good taste of the reviewer; and the editor
forwarded a cheque for twenty -five pounds,
with the, to Paul, enchanting intima-
tion, that further contributions would be
" We'll take that letter with us, Paul,"
said Mr. Pemberton. " If anything can
make your ' Conductor' blush, it will be the
contrast between his mean rapacity and the
liberal conduct of a Conductor who is a
At 3 P.M. the next day Paul and his old
friend drove into the City.
Mr. Pemberton, purple with rage, was
planning all the way what he should do,
and what he should say.
Alas ! it was all in vain !
As they approached the office of the
Cheajjside they perceived a crowd round
The brokers were in possession. Mr.
Conductor had just been arrested; and
Paul and Mr. Pemberton arrived only in
time to see him carried off to Wliitecross
Street, in a cab between two bailiffs.
All Mr. Pemberton's rage evaporated at
the sight of its object brought to such a
very humiliating position.
He would have lent him, or rather given
him the money to free himself, had he
known what the debt was, and how to
communicate with him.
The matchless, cool, and almost dignified
impudence of the Conductor never for
a moment forsook him even at such a
His large fat face, with its very regular
and very handsome features, and its plaster
of Paris hue, had a benign and almost
He seemed to fill the cab with the bulk
of his tall form, and the expanse of his
white Avaistcoat and light grey paletot ; and
yet a thin, red-faced, black-whiskered police-
man was wedged tightly in on either side
of him. He had snatched up his cheque-
book and a bag of biscuits, and as he never
went more than a quarter of an hour with-
out refreshment, he munched the biscuits,
and offered some to the policemen with
the air of a monarch.
Before he drove off he recognised Paul —
smiled condescendingly, waved his white
fat hand, and called out, "All right, Mr.
Penryn. Come and see me in Whitecross
Street. You'll be sure not to find me out.
Go on with the tale — I shall be all right in
a week, and the Cheapside will come out as
The Conductor was then conve3^ed to
prison, and very soon having got through
the Bankruptcy Court somehow, with a
third-class certificate, he was reinstated in
his office, calm and smiling as if nothing
By this time Paul had sent in his second
tale, but in compliance with the earnest
entreaties of Mr. Pemberton, he had written
to the Conductor declining to be bound to
fcim in any way, and informing him that
the editor of the quarterly had paid
him twenty-five pounds for a review not
exceeding twenty pages, and that he could
not, therefore, in justice to himself, labour
hard for a whole month for the sum of
The Conductor was in a great rage.
Paul's tales had been much admired,
and had greatly increased the sale of the
Foxwell took out his pocket-book, and
jotted down the following menioran-
" To tell Ferret to find out what review
in the quarterly is written by Penryn,
•and to get it well slashed in every paper
we can influence. Ferret to abuse it whole-
sale in the Cheapside^ the Penny Critic^ the
Weekly Spy^ the Viper^ and the Backbiter''
And thus ended Paul's connexion with
the Cheapside and its Conductor.
VOL. ITI. 10
Paul had remarked that for some tim.e
pa&t Mr. Cottrell had been rather cool in
his manner, and had looked anxious and
It was rumoured in the counting-house
that Rhoda Cottrell was very ill.
One day Paul was summoned to a
private interview Avith Mr. Cottrell.
The evening before, Mr. Cottrell, very-
uneasy about his darling girl, who had
retired very early, pleading a headache as
an excuse, had entered his daughter's room
to Avish her good night.
He found her not undressed, lying on
her bed. Her window open and the moon-
light shining on her pale, wan face, wet
and blistered with tears.
"My darling," said her father, "how
imprudent you are. The night is cold,
and delicate as you are the night air may
be very injurious to you. Why did not
Martha close your shutters and draw the
"She did, papa. I opened the wm-
" What for, my darling ?"
'-' I wanted air, and I like to look at the
" I thought, my pet, you could not bear
any light when you were in bed?"
'* Ah ! formerly I could not, papa, but
now I like the moonlight and hate the
" But why do you not try to. go to sleep,
" Because it is vain to try ; I cannot sleep,
papa, and therefore I love the ' Sun of the
Mr. Cottrell sat down by his darling's
He took her hand — it was very hot and
" Rhoda, my own and only darling,'^ he
said, *^you are ill, and you are unhappy;
tell me what you are fretting about. If it is
in my power to ease your dear heart, my
child, I will make any, every sacrifice,
only be open with your poor fond
Rhoda turned her face to the wall, but
left her hand in her father's.
Mr. Cottrell continued, " You have re-
fused Lord Snowdon's noble offer. Do you
repent of having done so ? Have you
changed your mind? If so it will not be
impossible to recall him. '
" I would not recall him for the world,
papa. I could never love or marry
" Is there any one else you love, my
Rhoda; any one else you could and would
Rhoda was silent.
" Speak, my darling ; if there is, be it who
it may, as I know you could never love an
unworthy object, I would sacrifice my
own ambition, my own wishes, everything
to make you happy. Say, only say it is not
that unprincipled idiot, Fisk !"
" Fisk ! Oh, no, papa ! Do not think
so meanly of me."
"It cannot be Beagle?"
"No: oh, no!"
A light darted across Mr. Cottrell's
" Rhoda, darling, is it Paul Pen-
Rhoda burst into a passionate fit of
"Rhoda," said her father, "I see it all
now ; it is, it must be Paul Penryn. And
doubtless he has been secretly trying to
Avin your love. I had some fears of him,
and — "
" No, no, papa; he has done all he could
to shun me ! It is true I do love him,
but I am not at all sure he loves me. I
am afraid he loves another; only he is so
noble, so generous, so chivalrous, that it is
possible — just possible — he may pretend
indifFerence to me out of a sense of duty to
you, and because I am an heiress ! I saw
him once in company with a beautiful girl
who looked so happy, I thought she must
be Ms affianced; but although the thought
has almost broken my jealous heart, it has
occurred to me that after all they may not
be lovers — that perhaps if it were not from
the fear of your disapproval and. the horror
of passing for a fortune-hunter, Paul might
love me ! You know how good, how very
good he is ! How gentlemanly, how well-
born, and how superior in every way to all
other young men ! Oh, papa ! his wife will
be the proudest, the happiest of women ! —
and the thought that is breaking my heart
is, that perhaps, if he did not fear your op-
position and resentment, and if I were not
an heiress, Paul would love and propose to
" Rhoda," said her father, " I own the
great wish of my heart was to see you
married to Lord Snowdon, but since that
cannot be, if Paul Penryn loves you I will
not oppose your union. If he has no prior
attachment and engagement, it is impossible
he should not love j/ou^ my beautiful dar-
ling! I will undertake to ascertain this
important point without betraying your
tenderness for him, or sacrificing your pride
and delicacy in any way. If he is free, I
Avill bring him down with me. He shall go
to Paris with us, and your charms must do
the rest. If he is attached to another, you
in return for this great proof of my love,
must promise to do your best to conquer a
passion which in that case it would be
wrong, weak, and degrading to cherish. Is
this a compact, my darling? In any case
we will take a foreign tour.
" If Paul is free, he shall be of the party;
if not, you must look upon him as another's
and resolve not to break your own lieart
and your poor old father s for one as good
as married to another woman ! Do you
promise this, my love ?"
'• I do, my own kind, beloved papa," said
Rlioda. " I have been very ungrateful to
think so much of Paul and myself, and so-
little of the best father in the Avorld !"
''Good night, then, my treasure!" said
old Cottrell. " And now undress and go*
to bed; I will close your shutters and cur-
tains. I shall look in again in half an hour.
Let me find you comfortably in bed, and, if
possible, fast asleep."
It was in fulhlment of his promise to
Rhoda that Mr. Cottrell sent for Paul into
his private room the next morning.
Mr. Cottrell, idolizing his only child as
he did, and looking upon her as by far the
most beautiful and engaging creature in the
world, had, almost unconsciously to himself,
dreaded in Paul Penryn a sort of detri-
Some meddling old cronies of his had
hinted at the danger for his daughter of
any intimacy with the interesting and
handsome young clerk; and Mr. Cottrell^
while Avishing to be kind and hospitable to
the son cf his old friend, had certainly failed
to be either, from a sort of undefined fear
that Paul might attempt to win the heart
and hand which the father so longed to see
bestowed on Lord SnoAvdon.
Paul, engrossed by his work and his love
for Mary Lynn, took very little heed of the
restraint and coldness which had latterly
characterized Mr. Cottrell's behaviour; but
he could not be quite insensible to the
change in his employer's manner ; and if he
had been, Brymer would have enlightened
him; for, having been very jealous of the
favour j\L\ Cottrell had shown Paul, he was
delighted to perceive and point out to the
latter that " Mr. Cottrell was fighting con-
foundedly shy of him."
" The fact is," said Brymer, "he begins
to suspect that you and Rhody are spoony
on each other."
" Then he suspects what is not at all the
case," replied Paul, curtly.
" Tell that to the marines," retorted
Brymer was iiiucli annoyed, and Paul
rather surprised, when on the morning after
his interview with Rhoda, Mr. Cottrell
came up to Paul in the office, shook him
warmly by the hand, and asked him to
come into his private room to lunch with
him at one o'clock. .
When Paul, in compliance with this in-
vitation, repaired to Mr. Cottrell's sanctum,
he found the latter pacing up and down
the little room.
Now that it was come to the point,
Mr. Cottrell did not find it very easy
to do what he had promised he
Paul was reserved, dignified, and cer-
tainly the last person of whom Mr. Cot-
trell would have liked to ask an idle or
How then was he, without betraying
Rhoda's secret, to ask Paul whether his
affections and his hand were or were not
For weeks he had been doing all he
quietly could to keep Paul and Khoda
apart, and now the dearest wish of his
heart was to be able to take Paul down
with him to The Larches that very day as
Mr. Cottrell was not a gentleman or a
man of the world. He was a straightfor-
ward honest man of business and a doting
father, fearing (now he knew her secret)
for his daughter's health and peace of
" How are you, Penryn?" he said, cor-
dially shaking hands with Paul, although
he had performed that ceremony when he
saw him in the office. "" Pray be seated.
Oblige me, my dear boy, by ringing for
lunch. How's my old friend? Have you
heard from him lately ? He must be rather
lonely at the old Manor House all alone.
Doesn't he ever advise you to marry, Paul,
and talk of settling in or near London with
you and your wife?"
" Marry, sir," said Paul, laughing, " why
I'm not of age.''
" What does that matter if you're in love
with a pretty girl and a pretty girl's in love
with you ! Eh, my boy ! you blush like a
maid! I see I've hit the right nail on the
^' Even if I were in love, and my passion
were returned, how could I marry until
I'm in circumstances to support a wife,
" But if the lady is rich enough to sup-
port you ? — eh, Paul ? — doesn't that make
it quite another thing?"
" I know of no lady who would support
" Well, not exactly. You could always
do a good deal for yourself. If the lady
had a father in business, he could take you
Paul smiled sadly as he thought of being
taken into partnership by Xatt Lynn the
" Come, Paul," said old Cottrell, '' I'm
your father's old friend ; don't let's beat
about the bush. I see how it is: you love
my darling Rhoda — she loves you. Come
down with me to-day to The Larches
and pop the question. I'll take 3^ou
into partnership as soon as you're of
age, and we'll have my old friend up to
the wedding, and he can live Avith you.
We'll all live together at The Larches and
make the old Manor House our country
"Alas, sir!" said Paul, "so liberal, so
kind an offer deserves my utmost gratitude,
and but for one insurmountable obstacle, I
should accept it w^ith delight."
" And what may that obstacle be?" cried
old Cottrell, aghast, forgetting that he had
promised Rhoda first to ascertain that Paul
had no prior attachment.
" I am devotedly attached to one 1 have
known and loved from my childhood," said
" Good heavens !" cried old Cottrell, " was
ever anything so unfortunate ! And here,
like a blundering old fool as I am, I have
betrayed my poor darling's secret, and so
sacrificed her delicacy and her dignity."
" Oh, do not say that, sir !" cried Paul.
" It was a noble, generous scheme of yours.
Your beautiful and admirable daughter is
in no way compromised by your having
condescended to think of the son of your
old friend as a fit suitor for her, in spite of
his being in every way unworthy of so
much excellence and beauty. Miss Cot-
trell has never shown me the slightest pre-
ference ; and even had I been heart-whole
and fancy free, I should have thought it
mean and ungrateful to avail myself of
your hospitality to try to win the hand of
your beautiful heiress, being, as I am, de-
pendent on my own exertions for a liveli-
''Well, Paul," said Old Cottrell, much
soothed by this judicious speech, '' I can
only say that as far as I am concerned I
should have been very glad, had you been
disengaged, to have authorized you to woo
and win my Rhoda. As you observe, after
all, if she has never shown you the slightest
preference, it might have come to nothing.
She doesn't seem much disposed to marry.
She has positively refused Lord Snow-
"And yet,'' said Paul, "it is in the
noble and aristocratic sphere into which he
could introduce her that such an exquisitely
beautiful and graceful creature ought to
move. Miss Cottrell has youth, matchless
beauty, every virtue and talent, and a
noble fortune. Lord Snowdon has an
ancient title, a fine fortune when the mort-
gages are paid off. Beagle says, a high cha-
racter, and I think he greatly admires and,
as far as such a man can, loves your sweet
Rhoda. Of course such a pearl of price is
not to be had for the asking; but if I knew
his lordship, I should advise him to per-
^' And that's the counsel I'll give him if
I come across him," said old Cottrell.
" Only, though he's very kind and easy in
his manners with Rhoda, I never can feel
at my ease with him, or get on with him.
I suppose it's because he's a lord, and I'm a
self-made man ! but he's got a cool stare
that frightens me to death, though my^
little Rhoda soon makes him change it for
a very meek loving look indeed. And
now, my dear young friend, let me ask
you, not in any spirit of idle curiosity,
but in one of deep and true interest in
3' our welfare; has your beloved the ad-
vantages of birth, wealth, and station, and
does my dear old friend approve of your
" I hope he will do so one day," said
Paul, with a deep sigh, '' but at present I
have not ventured to mention my attach-
ment to ni}^ father. Tlie girl I adore is of
very low birth, and therefore, of course,
penniless. She has no dowry but her
rare and noble beauty, her virtues,
lier intellect, and her heart! It must
be a long, a very long engagement, I
fear, but as Jacob served tAvice seven
years for Eachel, so am I willing,
so help me Heaven ! to serve twice
seven years for mj^ angel of truth and
" You're a noble hearted vouns: fellow,
Paul !" said Mr. Cottrell, holding out his
hand to Paul. " Let's drink this bottle of
port to the health of your fair intended ;
and if I can accelerate matters by adding
to your income and your work here," he
^aid, with a sly smile, "when matters are in
a more forward state, Pll not be backward
in helping you to an appointment, on the
stipend of which it would not be imprudent
to marry. And now, my dear boy, I must
VOL. III. 11
drive down to ' The Larches.* My darling,
like her late poor dear mother, is very deli-
cate. She has not been looking well lately.
I fear I must take her abroad again. It's
very inconvenient, with such a business to
manage ; however^ it wont be so much so as
it was before I had you, Paul, to trust to.
If I must go, I shall leave you in supreme
command, and that will be a pretty penny
in your pocket. You'll keep all straight, I
Paul had not the heart to say that it
was possible he might be going abroad
himself; and so they parted.
And when Paul returned to the
office, Brymer, full of jealous rage^
" I say, Penryn, you look as if old
Cott had been giving you a wiggingv
for so slily making up to pretty little
" Do mind your own business, Mr.
Brymer," said Paul, " and remember once
for all, I have never had the slightest
idea or intention of making up to Miss
''As I said before, tell that to the
marines !" said Brymer, sotto voce.
" Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in that clime —
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Xow melt into fondness, now madden to crime."
ORD DERWENT was still detained
at Altamount Castle.
The old Earl, his father, Avho
had had another fit, lay in a very precarious
state — one in fact that threatened sudden
dissolution at any time, but yet so strong
was Lord Altamount's constitution, and so
great his tenacity of life, that he lived on
(if living it could be called), and in common
decency his son could not leave him to the
care of hirelings.
Meanwhile, although Mary Lynn's situa-
tion in Grosvenor Square w^as now, owing
to the tyranny and ill-temper of Lady Der-
went, almost untenable, she tried to endure
all and keep her ground for the sake of
Jasper, and in order not to add at such a
time to Lord Derwent's trials.
It was now time for those who Avere to
winter in the South to set out.
In a very short time it would be very
cold and windy, and travelling would be
very dangerous for Jasper.
Lord Derwent, intensely anxious that his
son should not lose what he considered his
best chance, had made up liis mind to ask
Paul to accompany Jasper as companion-
tutor, and as he could not leave the dying
Earl, and he did not know how ill Lady
Dersvent was behaving and how wretched
she made poor Jasper, he proposed that her
ladyship should be of the party.
Paul had not been much at Altamount
House since Lady Derwent's arrival there.
Her manner to him was so cold and insolent
that he seldom staved more than a few
minutes when he called, and often only in-
quired at the door how Jasper was.
One day, however, on going to Mr.
Cottrell's warehouse, he found a letter from
In this letter Mr. Cottrell said : —
'^ My dear Paul, — I am so alarmed by
the increasing ill health of my beloved
Rhoda, that I have resolved on setting ojff
at once with her to Paris. I leave the whole
management of my very extensive business
in your hands. / have entire confidence in
you., and in no one else.
^'You have often said that you had a
great object in view, namely, that of amassing
a thousand pounds by industry and self-
denial. By devoting yourself heart and
soul to my business while I am abroad, you
will make a great stride towards that object.
Your salary, as head and sole manager, will
be 500/. per annum ; and on my return I
shall hand you a present of 200/. That is, if
I am, as I feel certain I sliall be, satisfied
with your zeal, judgment, and devotion to
my interests. As I know every moment to
be precious, I shall not see you in Thames
Street before I go. We start in an hour
for Paris, via Newhaven and Dieppe. You
Avill instal yourself in my private room, and,
in fact, take my place in the bushiess. I
have written to Beagle to tell him that I
have appointed you sole manager in my
iibsence. I am the more anxious to be off
this afternoon, because it has come to my
knowledge that Lord Snowdon is going to
Newhaven by the same train, and on to
Paris at once, and I have great hopes that
he may renew his suit, and with better suc-
cess ; at any rate, his agreeable society and
his attachment to my darling would cheer
her and be a great help to me. If you had
not the best head and kindest heart I have
met mth (in business), I could not trust
one so young w^ith the management of such
a business as mine. As it is, I have no
fear, and leave you at once that full power
which should always be given to those on
whom we entail entire responsibility.
" I shall write to you regularly, and
expect that you will always answer by
return. I am, my dear Paul,
'' Your sincere friend,
'' Colin Cottrell."
Paul's heart sank within him at first when
he read this letter.
Alas! he had now no choice; and if
Lord Derwent were to propose to him to
accompany Jasper to the South, every feel-
ing of duty, honour, and gratitude would
compel him to give up so delightful an
engagement. He must now forego the pre-
sence of his beloved Mar}-, the pleasure of
comforting and cheering Jasper Ardennes,
the new delights of foreign travel, the sweet
South, and all the varied beauties of that
land of the sun, to devote himself to dry
distasteful business in foii'^ry London ! KwA
instead of beautiful Mentone, with her olive
groves, her lemon and orange trees, her soft
skies, her blue sea, her snowy alps, her fresh
flowers, and her old ruins, Paul must
drudge on in Thames Street all through
the long dreary winter.
" I would not have agreed to such a sacri-
fice," he said to himself, " had he given me
the option, but he is gone ; and unless I
take his place his business will suffer."
A little later, however, the thought
suggested itself to Paul's mind that
this distasteful and unwelcome arrange-
ment would in reality greatly advance and
accelerate the one great object of his life —
the reinvestment of Ann Penryn's thousand
pounds, the restoration of his father's peace !
The restoration of that sum which Sligo
Downy had induced him to withdraw from
the Three per Cents, would save his father
from danger, disgrace, despair !
At the end of one year of the sakiry of
five hundred pounds, added to a bonus of
two hundred, together with what he had
akeady amassed, and what he should have
added by that thne to his present hoard, he
should be able to put a thousand pounds
into his father's hands, to invest it in the
Three per Cents, for Ann Penryn's benefit.
^' Alas ! I am very selfish and very ungrate-
ful to murmur at this,'' said Paul to himself.
"I ought to feel a glow of happiness, not
a chill of disappointment, when I think that
even for dear Mary's sake it is better as it
Paul, anxious about Mary Lynn and
Jasper Ardennes, called that very evening
at Altamount House.
He did not mean to go in, but while he
was speaking to the porter. Lady Derwenfs
own footman came down to say that her
ladyship had given orders that if Mr.
Penryn called, he was to be requested to
walk up, as her ladyship had an impor-
tant message for him from Lord Derwent.
Paul ofuessed the nature of that mes-
sage, and the word "Alas!" trembled
on his lips as he entered the drawing-
Lady Derwent was all smiles and com-
pliments. She told Paul that Lord Derwent,
unable to leave the Earl, his father, and
anxious that Jasper's journey South should
not be delayed any longer, had resolved on
begging him to escort the party to Mentone ;
that Lord Derwent had made the rate of
remuneration the same which a friend of
his was paying for the services of a com-
panion-tutor for an invalid son, during a
winter in Italy, namely, 200/. That in the
iirst instance the party would only consist
of herself, Jasper, Mr. Penryn, her maid,
and her son's valet; but that, a little later,
Lord Derwent would bring over Miss
Osgood and her pupils.
Paul at once explained how he was
situated, and expressed his sincere regret
that he could not, without sacrificing his
duty and his honour, and committing a gross
breacli of trust, abandon tlie post so gene-
rously confided to him.
"Dear me!" said her ladyship, "how
very provoking. I don't think Lord Der-
went will let us start if you cannot escort
us, nor do I believe that Jasper will care to
go. Dr. H says a little later would
be ver}^ dangerous for my son to travel,
and I do so long to see Mentone, and avoid
the winter in England. I don't see why you
should give up going with us for a Mr. Cot-
trell and his odiousThames Street concerns.'^
" Mr. Penryn," said the feeble voice of
Jasper, " I want to speak to you."
" I will come to you directly, Mr. Jasper
Ardennes," said Paul.
" Do reconsider this matter, Mr. Penryn,"
said Lady Derwent.
"Alas! I cannot do that," said Paul. "I
am in honour bound not to leave London
till Mr. Cottrell returns. But surely Mr.
Jasper Ardennes, with your ladyship and
IMiss Mary Lynn "
"Oh, as to Lynn," said Lady Derwent,
" she is gone to Pen combe."
"Gone! When did she ^^o?"
" She went this morning. She had in-
tended not starting; till this evenino-. Xow
I am here she is of no manner of use to my
son, and she is very obnoxious to me. I
hate hangers-on of that kind, people who
set up for saints and often turn out great
sinners. I am sure she does my son no
good, singing hymns and psalms to him,
and reading from books that depress him —
books about death and immortality. Well,
I told her my opinion, and she had fixed to
go this evening; but early this morning
came a telegram, saying her mother (an old
fishwoman) was not expected to live ; and
so she set off at once, and I'm very tiiankful
she's gone, for I'm sure she's the worst
person in the world to be with my son ; and
she has got such an influence over him that
his grief at parting from her was such, I
feared hed break a blood-vessel. Had I
been brought in dead and laid at his feet
he couldn't have given way to a more
"■ Miss Lynn has nursed Mr. Jasper Ar-
dennes so devotedly," said Paul, " I do not
wonder he cannot bear to part from her.''
" He has nothing to regret since I have
taken her place," said Lady Derwent, haugh-
tily. And seeing Paul was not to be shaken
in his resolution, she walked sullenly away,
and he hastened to Jasper's couch.
Jasper was looking very ill : his cheeks
very flushed; he seemed much agitated,
and he had evidently been weeping bit-
"Oh, my dear friend!" he said, holding
out his thin and burning hand to Paul. " I
am so wretched, so utterly wretched ! Mary
is gone ! I do not complain of her going,
since it seems her mother is dangerously
ill ; but before she received a telegram from
her home, my mother had so wronged, out-
raged, and insulted her, that she had told
me she could not stay; and with Mary-
all my comfort is gone ! My mother means
well, and wishes to be an attentive nurse,
but she has none of Mary's soft, gentle
ways. She is not accustomed to a sick
room — she is so loud, so harsh, so over-
bearing and argumentative. Oh, Paul, my
dear friend, unless you can come abroad
with us, I would rather not go; I would
rather stay and die in England."
It was very painful to Paul to be obliged
to explain that his going was an impos-
Jasper sighed deeply.
'^ My mother talks of getting me a regular
nurse — a Mrs. Gamp or a Betsy Prig, no
doubt ! — and she is so resolute and so harsh,
I have little hope she will not do it. Fancy,
dear Paul, to have driven that angel Mary
Lynn from my side, and then to establish
there some old, drinking, snuif-taking cunt,
who Avill snore all night, and have me com-
pletely in her power when once we are
abroad ! Well, there's one comfort, I shan't
live long now; and if I had been able to
wander in the South with you and Mary I
thhik I might have recovered."
Paul vainly tried to comfort poor Jasper.
He remained with him until Lady Derwent
came in and said, —
'' Jasper, you must not talk any more.
Indeed, I've rung for James to help you to
Paul upon this started up and took leave
of his hapless friend and his harsh, haughty,
-» * * *
Jasper wrote a few trembling lines to his
father, complaining of his increased suffer-
ings, the departure of Mary Lynn, Lady
Derwent's conduct to that sweet girl, and
her unbearable tyranny over himself
This letter Lady Derwent intercepted.
She was very anxious to get Jasper abroad
as an excuse for getting to the South her-
Being almost without money, and
certain Lord Derwent would not send her
any considerable sum, she pledged, through
her maid — a crafty, experienced Avoman,
who suggested this expedient — the splendid
family diamonds. She hired a strong, mas-
culine woman as nurse — her abigail's mother,
a large-boned, coarse-featured creature, Avho
had walked the hospitals — and with one
footman, (her own,) she set off with poor
Jasper for Paris.
She dismissed Jasper's own valet, re-
marking, with as little tact as feeling, that
in his state a valet was a useless expense,
since a nurse could do all that he required !
One evening Paul, calling at Altamount
House to inquire after Jasper's health,
heard to his dismay and distress that Lady
Derwent had set off with hiin for the Con-
The housemaid who answered Paul's
inquiries added, with tears in her eyes,
*' Poor dear Master Jasper I He was so
VOL. III. 1 2
unwilling to go, and looked so bad, and he
Avished me good-bye, and said — ' It's good-
bye for ever, Eacliel; you'll never hear my
voice again, though, perhaps, you may see
my face !' He gave me a sovereign,"' added
Rachel; ''for he was always so generous
and kind, and he well knew I'd 20 throuojh
fire and water to serve him ! He never was so
Avell after my lady, his ma, came to town.
She did all for the best, no doubt; but she
is too sharp and sudden in her ways; and as
for Switch, her lad3^'s-maid, and that terrible
Miss Switch's old mother, I could not abide
'em, and no more couldn't Mr. Jasper ; and
then my lady wouldn't let him have his own
valet, James. James is such a handy, good-
hearted young man, who's been with him
since his boyhood. However, James is
gone down to my lord to let him know the
rights of all this ! and he told me, as sure
as his name's Jeremiah James, as soon as
my lord hears of m^^ lady's goings on, if he
can t set off himself arter her, he'll send
me, with orders tfiat no one else is to go
anigh ]\Iaster Jasper unless he orders 'em to
Avait on him ! Oh, James thinks there'll be a
regular blow-up when my lord hears of my
lady's hiring that horrid old Mother Switch
to nurse Mr. Jasper against his will, poor
dear ! Mr. Jasper left his kind love for
3'ou, sir, in case you called, and he begged
you'd write to him — Post-office, Mentone."
Paul felt much distressed at tliis account
of Lady Derwent's odious conduct and poor
suiFering Jasper's miserable position; but
he hoped Lord Derwent would be able to
set off at once to rejoin his son — perhaps
with Miss Osgood, the little girls, Mary
Lynn, and James — and that he would send
Lady Derwent and the SAvitches — mother
and daughter — back to England.
" Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ;
Eaze out the written troubles of the brain';
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff.
Which weighs upon the heart ?"
ARY found poor Mrs. Lynn very
ill, but worse in mind than in
She was worn to a skeleton, and the vil-
lasre doctor said she seemed to him to be
labourin^: under that sort of melancholia
which arises from what the country people
call " having something on the mind."
Rosy, who was grown a very beautiful
and useful girl, had nursed her mother with
devoted affection; but things had gone very
badly of late in the humble home of the
Besides the breaking of a Launceston
Bank, in which Xatt's savings were placed,
he had lost his best boat on a stormy night
at sea, and the cattle plague had carried off
all his cows.
These losses had greatly affected the
mind of poor Polly Lynn, his wife, and by
for ever brooding over them, she had
brought on a sort of low nervous fever,
which in all probability would carry her to
The language of this poor, uneducated
Cornish woman, under the influence of this
species of melancholy monomania, was often
poetical and even sublime.
The doctor had warned her husband and
Rosa that she was exactly in that morbid
state in which so many acts of self-destruc-
tion are committed, and he urged them
never to leave her alone, and to watch her
"Polly Lynn," as she was commonly
called, had been very anxious to see Mary ;
but when Mary was by her bedside her
conduct was strange, fitful, and charac-
teristic of the passionate caprice of incipient
When first Mary entered the little low-
pitched, dark room in which Mrs. Lynn
was sitting by a peat fire, in an old
arm-chair, and propped up by pillows, she
held out her thin arms to the elegant and:
stately girl, who — in spite of her silk robe
and delicate breeding, her finished educa-
tion and thoroughbred air — rushed to
the chair in which Polly Lynn was propped
up, and falling on her knees on that rough
brick floor, buried her face in her mother's
lap, and, weeping, said, —
" Oh, mother — dear, kind mother ! I had
no idea you were f^o ill. Why — oh why
did you not send for me before ? Kiss me,
dear, dear mother. Are you not glad to
see your own Mary, your own first-born ?
Mother does not seem to know me, Rosy,"
she added, rising and sadly wiping away
" Does that lady look like my first-born ?"
cried Polly Lynn, in a sharp, excited voice.
"" Look at that pale queen compared with
that fresh wildflower, Rosy. Do they look
like sisters'^ This is a poor place for you,
Lady Mary !" she added. " You were not
made for turf fires and brick floors ! You've
been wronged — cruel wronged. Maybe, if
others had done their duty by thee thou'dst
be no half-and-half companion, but a car-
riage lady thyself!*'
"Mother," said ^lary, again kneeling b}-
her mother's side, " don't talk so wildly.
You know I was born in this dear cot, and
that it was your wish rather than mine
that I should go to the Castle and be edu-
cated and trained to be companion-govern-
ness to the young ladies ; but if I am
dressed like a lady, mother, and if I talk
like one, I am at heart unchanged. I am
your own iirst-born Mary Lynn, and I
cannot bear you to treat me like a stranger
and a lady. I am come home to nurse
you — to wait on you — to do your bidding,
as when I was your little Polly, and you
used to love me so."
" Hear me ! — hear me^ Rosy !" said the
poor invalid. " Look at those white hands
and that silk gown : they don't seem tit for
waiting on a poor fishwife. Oh ! oh !" she
cried, throwing her arms wildly up, " take
her away ! the sight of her drives me mad !
But for her, I'd never have done the thing
that was wrong. It wasn't Natt's fault.
The fit! the fit! Rosy, the fit's coming
Rosy rushed to her mother, who, with a
loud scream, went off into an epileptic
Mary, in spite of her mother's agony in
her presence (an agony that generally ended
in a fit), did her utmost to help Rosy to
nurse the poor sufferer.
She would sit behind a screen to watch
her, and wait upon her during the night,
while Kosy got a few hours' rest, and while
Polly Lynn, under the influence of a strong
sedative, was unconscious whose hand
smoothed her pillow and administered her
medicine, her jelly, or her broth.
Xatt Lynn, much altered and a good
deal broken down, was yet strong as ever
in his trust in God. He absented himself a
good deal fishing, and this was a time
when a brave and skilful fisherman could
earn a good deal.
Mary had been up to the Castle to see
Miss Oso^ood and the voun": ladies.
She had also seen Lord Derwent, who
^rew livid with rao-e and veno;eance when
he, by close cross-examination, elicited that
Lady Derwent had been very insulting to
He said to ^lary —
" Lady Derwent knows I cannot leave
this place. The doctors say the Earl cannot
live a week longer, and to leave him alone
at sucli a time would make me the talk and
wonder of the world; else she should not
be a day longer with my beloved Jasper to
torment him by her ill-tempers, her jea-
lousy, and her tyranny. I do hope, my
dear Miss Lynn, that as soon as your
mother can spare you, you will return to
poor Jasper. There is no one can be any-
thing like the comfort and solace you are
to that angel suiferer."
Mary did not tell Lord Derwent that she
felt she could never again expose herself ta
Lady Derwent's insults and tyranny, unless
she were supported and protected by his
lordship or Miss Osgood. She merely said
that her mother was in a very precarious
state ; and that while she was so, of course
duty and affection would prevent her
Lord Derwent was about to renew his
somewhat selfish argument, when he was
summoned to the Earl's room.
The Earl was very much worse, and
Mary — who wished and hoped by roaming
along the sands to meet with her dear
friend, "the Veiled Lady," took her leave.
Miss Osgood, as she embraced Mary, told
her that from what the doctors said the
poor old Earl's life was drawing rapidly to
a close. Miss Osgood, who had lived so
long at the Castle, was very pale and weep-
ing bitterly, and as Mary took her leave
she saw many of the household looking
timid and pale. The men were talking
together in low and sad voices, and the
maids were sobbing.
Mary had seen but little of the Earl, but
in their occasional intercourse he had always
been kind and courteous ; and as she looked
up at the curtained windows of his room,
she, too, heaved a sigh, and wiped away a
* re r!:- *
Mary Lynn was not disappointed in her
In her ramble by the sea and among the
rocks she met with Minna, the " Veiled
Mary Lynn had always felt a strange,
mysterious, and passionate interest in Minna,
and Minna returned Mary's tenderness with
an affection not less lively, and perhaps
Little did they guess the real source of
the attachment that bound their hearts
Mary Lynn told her kind friend the
'' Veiled Lady," of her visit to the Castle,
and of the imminent peril of the old
She perceived, but did not in the least
suspect why her still lovel}' friend's cheek
flushed crimson and then became ghastly
pale, nor did she guess why she trembled
and clasped her hands as in prayer.
Mary ventured to say —
" Do you know the Earl, dear
"Slightly," said Minna; "but the near
approach of death to one so important in
the village, and of whom one has always
heard so much, necessarily agitates
one! Tell me," she added, " tell me, what
you think of this poor young man, Jasper
Ardennes, as they call Mm V
"As they call him now," said ^lary;
" but as soon as the Earl dies, Lord Derwent
will be Earl of Altamount, and Jasper
Ardennes, his only son, will be Lord
"Will he?" said ]\Iinna, with a strange
" Of course he Avill," said Marj ,
" We shall see," said Minna. " ' There's
many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' as
my old Dorcas says. But let us talk of
other things, Mary. Your own dear
mother, how is she?"
"Alas! I know not how to answer that
question. I fear she is very ill in body, for
she is wasted to a shadow; but her mind
seems more affected still. She could not
rest till I came — at least so Kosy tells me;
and when I am away she is always asking
for me, but when I approach her she drives
me from her, calls me Lady Mary, and says
I am too grand and too dainty for her poor
" I can only suppose that in her heart
vshe did not like ray going to the Castle;
and yet she it was who most advocated my
going. Sometimes she tells me I ought to
be lady of the Castle, not a poor dependant
there. 1 do not recognise my poor dear
mother who used to talk so simply and yet
so sensibly. She rambles on in such fine
language, about Courts and jewels, calls me
a hot-house rose, and sister a sweet wild
rose; and, in fact, I often fear, dear, dear
mother is going mad !"
'' These are sad times, love," said Minna.
"The Earl dying; poor Mr. Penryu so ill
that old Patience, I hear, has sent for
'' Sent for Master Paul !" said Mary,
"Of course; what else could the old
woman do? Mr. Penryn has long been in
ii low, moping way; and last week some
burglars got in and carried away some
money which old Patience had in her keep-
ing, and which she kept hidden up in a hole
in the kitchen chimney. The ^\Tetches
came down the broad old chimney and took
it away : it was in an old pewter box.
It seems the loss of this sum has worked on
Mr. Penryn's mind. My father has been
to see him, to try, as his minister, to rouse
and comfort him, but he could not get him
to answer any of his questions, nor
induce him to take any interest in what he
" These are indeed sad times for Pen-
cbmbe," said Mary. " The Earl dying, Mr.
Penryn so bad, and poor dear mother so ill
in body and mind."
Mary, who was sitting on a fragment
of rock by Minna's side, rested her head
on her friend's bosom and wept bit-
" Yon are worn ont with night-watch -
ing, my dear Mary," said Minna. " You
must take more air and exercise, or you too
Avill be laid up. Latterly I have been in
the habit of takino- an evenino^ row or sail
when the weather is fine and the sea calm.
It refreshes me and does me so much good.
I must get you to come with me. If it is
pleasant weatlier to-morrow evening, will
you come for an hour or two, from six to
eight ? If so, meet me here, and we will go
" I will do so with pleasure," said
" At that time father and Rosy are with
mother, and I can well be spared."
'• Good night then, dear Mary," said
Minna. "We shall meet to-morrow even-
Minna hurried back to the Vicarage, and
]\Iary made the best of her way home to her
VOL. III. 13
Oh, it is monstrous, monstrous !
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it ;
The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
The name of * * * *."
|T was as Minna had said, old Pa-
tience had telegraphed for Paul to
come home immediately.
She did not say that her master was
dangerously ill, but she said Mr. Paul
must not lose a moment in setting off.
Luckily, Paul received this telegram on
Saturday after the counting-house was
closed for the half-holiday.
He had then Sunday at his disposal, and
in case of any inevitable dela}^ he left full
directions for Mr. Beag-le.
The fact was, Mr. Penryn had never
recovered his health and spirits, and the
thought of his fault, a fault which his
morbid fancy magnified into a crime,
namely, the withdrawal from the Three per
Cents, of his niece's thousand pounds and
the loss of that sum in Sligo Downy's
bubble speculation, haunted him night and
Still it was a comfort to him to think
that old Patience's savings would enable
him to pay the Christmas dividend, and
perhaps the next midsummer one too ; and.
with the love of " putting off the evil day,"
which is characteristic of such procrasti-
nating natures as Mr. Penryn's, and that
vague trust in the future and hope of
something turning up, also peculiar to such
characters, he had kept his mind tolerably
quiet, and had not given way to de-
But when old Patience's savings were
stolen, Mr. Penryn's horror at the idea of
not being able to send Ann lier Christmas
dividend, his anguish of mind, his grief,
terror and remorse, threw him into a state
of mental anguish that seriously affected his
health. Old Patience, who watched him
closely, saw in him symptoms of melan-
choly madness which alarmed the faithful
old w^oman, and she began to ask herself
whether it was not her duty to send to Mr.
One day Mr. Penryn went to Penzance,
and by dint of watching old Patience dis-
covered that he had brought back with him
two small phials. He hid them in his
dressing-table drawer, but old Patience
found them, and discovered that they Avere
from two different chemists, and that each
was labelled " Poison."
They were in fact filled with mor-
Old Patience saw that Mr. Penryn had
opened them, and she supposed that he had
put them there in order to have them
ready for night, when he probably meant
to swallow the contents of both phials.
Old Patience poured the poison away
and filled up the phials with some
cough mixture she had by her of the same
Mr. Penryn spent the whole evening in
writing to Paul. He went to bed at mid-
night, and beside himself with misery,
remorse, and terror, he drank off the con-
tents of the two phials, and laid himself
down on his bed, as he thought, to die.
But old Patience had not only replaced
the morphia by an innocuous liquid, but
she had telegraphed for Paul ; and on Sun-
day evening, whilst Mr. Penryn lay awaiting
death, and wondering why the last sleep
did not steal over his senses, Paul was
drawing near the old Manor House, bring-
ing hope, help, life to his hapless father.
Perhaps no one, however miserable, can
without horror and remorse await the issue
of poison self administered.
Mr. Penryn, now that he believed his
doom sealed, was in an agony of terror and
The fatal drug taken, and his life as he
believed sacrificed, all for which he had
committed this heinous crime dwindled
What was Ann Penryn's thousand
pounds compared to his immortal soul?
wdiat would be Paul's agony? what his
own eternity of punishment? In a frenzy
of terror and shame that brought out large
drops of perspiration on his forehead, he rang
the bell, resolved to tell old Patience what
he had done, and determined to have a
doctor sent for, and every eifort to save his
life resorted to.
When Mr. Penryn's bell rang, Patience
was just telling Paul what she had
done to defeat her master's dreadful pur-
"Go to my father. Patience," said Paul.
^'If, as is probable, he repents of his rash deed
and now in terror and despair wishes to be
saved if not too late, tell liim how you have
acted. I would spare him the humiliation
of confessing his rash act before me. If
he does repent, when he knows he is safe
tell him I am come. I think when he hears
what I have to tell him he will not wish to
leave this world, and will soon be his own
dear self again."
Five minutes later ]\lr. Fenryn, who had
not undressed liimself the night before,
came down stairs, the ghost of his former
Paul rushed forward and caught the
wan shadowy form of the old man in his
arms; The father sank apparently lifeless
on the son's breast.
" Patty," cried Paul, in wild alarm, as
lie lifted the wasted form and laid it on
the sofa. " Oh, Patty, look at my
" Don't be afeard. Master Paul, master's
often took like that. He's only fainted.
I'll get the hartshorn; he'll be all right
^ if^ "^ ^
That evening a bright fire blazed in the
hall grate. The father and son supped
cheerfully together on a table Patience had
drawn up to the fireplace.
Paul revealed to his father all his plans,
all his hopes, modestly told him how
hard he had worked, how closely he had
economized, and finally produced the box
in which his savings were stored.
'' Another year, dear father," he said,
"of labour and self-denial, if my good
fortune does not desert me, will enable me
to place in your hands the sum of a thousand
Mr. Penryn started.
" Paul, my own dear son," he gasped
out, " how did you know that "
He covered his face with his hands, and
burst into tears.
'' Father," said Paul, " listen, and I will
He then related to Mr. Penryn every-
thing connected with that mistake about
the letters of Sligo Downy and Mr. Cot-
trell, through which Paul had become
acquainted with his father's secret.
How the father blessed that good son !
and how amply was the son repaid for all
his labour and self-denial when he saw the
serene light of happiness beam once more in
the eyes that had of late looked alternately
dull with pain and wild with despair. Those
eyes which as far back as his memory could
travel had always beamed so kindly on
'' Paul," said Mr. Penryn, solemnly, " I
thank God for the great blessing of such a
son, and I beg you, my dear boy, to pray
this night to your Father in Heaven that
your only earthly parent may be forgiven
the intention of committing the only sin
that admits of no pardon, since it is the only
one that cannot be repented of. My own
prayers for pardon will be offered up morn-
ing, noon, and night while I live. Let
yours be added to mine, Paul, and I may
yet be pardoned."
Paul did not question his father as to his
meaning, nor did he appear to know of
what he had done.
He said, " I do pray fervently night and
morning that God will bless, protect, and
prosper you, dear father. I will now add
to that petition one that he will pardon
Paul had not spoken to his father of his
love for Mary Lynn and his fixed determina-
tion to make her his wife as soon as he
could offer her a comfortable home.
He did not like to damp his father's joy
bv a revelation which he felt must in the
first instance be distasteful to the aristo-
cratic prejudices of a Penryn of Penryn;
but he did resolve to try to see Mary the
next day, and he made up liis mind to
tell her frankly how truly he loved her, and
to implore her if she reciprocated that af-
fection to promise, that when he could offer
lier a home she would become his wife.
" She will then have a happy future be-
fore her," he said, *' and she will bear up
for jny sake even if her own poor mother
dies and Lady Derwent makes it impossible
for her to live at the Castle."
" You the pilgrim sad and lonely,
In your dark and wintry day,
Oh ! for it is He wlio only
Can console you on your way.
Trust ill God."
SOLEMN stillness reigned in the
eliamber of the twelfth Earl of Al-
It was bright noon without, but a soft
twilight alone reigned in the darkened room
of disease and fast approaching death.
A small, pale, wasted old man lay in a
large four-post bed, propped up by pillows,
and his features drawn aside and distorted
The pillars of the bedstead were formed
of the images, carved in old oak, of two
Saracens — his supporters ; and the crimson
velvet hano^ino-s and tester frins^ed with
gold were surmounted by an earl's
The doctor had just left the Castle, and
at this moment there was no one in the
room but a portly old nurse of the Gamp
school, who sat by the Earl's bedside, her
n:iind busy with her '' perquisites," and the
probable profits to be derived from tlie
Earl's death and funeral.
On this day the physicians had held
theh^ last consultation.
They had told Lord Derwent that not
only there was no hope of any improve-
ment, but that the Earl, in all probability,
could not live throuo-h the nio^ht.
Lord Derwent, worn out with watching,
had resolved — as he told the nurse — to
take a turn in the Park, " as his head
ached, and his strength began to fail." He
had told her that he should not be absent
more than half an hour; and as he glanced
at the Earl, his father, Avhose stertorous
breathing and comatose sleep betokened
approaching dissolution, he said, " You
think I may venture, nurse ? There'll be
no change just yet?"
" No, my lord, not for hours," she
She had her oAvn base reasons for wishing
to have the coast clear.
There were drawers to be examined
and pillaged, and a purse on a toilet-table
to be lightened.
Lord Derwent left the room slowly and
The nurse watched from the window till
she saw him in the avenue; then she
locked the door, and opened the drawers.
Alas ! that at such a time — almost in the
actual presence of Death — this world, and
its vile passions, aims, and vices should
have been uppermost in the thoughts of the
nobleman and the nurse !
As soon as Lord Derwent was at the end
of the avenue, he changed his slow step
and mournful air for a brisk pace and eager,
" There is not a moment to be lost," he
said to himself. " The last telegram
announces a great improvement in Jasper.
He will live, and Minna must be removed
ere my father dies."
So saying, he rushed on like one
After hurrying about the rocks for some
time, as if anxiously looking out for some
one, Lord Derwent took out a small silver
He put it to his lips.
In answer to its shrill sound came one
somewhat similar from a cave a little way
Thither Lord Derwent bent his steps.
In the innermost recess of that ca\ern he
found Dan Devrill.
• " My father is dying fast," said Lord
Derwent, '' and I must hurry back to the
Castle. AYhat have you done? As soon as
the Earl's death is known she will proclaim
our secret marriage. She must be safe off
and far away before the passing-bell tolls."
"Give me fall power to act for the best,
my lord," said Dan Devrill, " and never
shall word or claim of hers disgrace your
noble son. Lady D has engaged
Kit's boat to take her for a sail this very
evening. Oh, my lord, be advised. I've
drugged Kit's liquor, and shall take his
place; let the boat capsize out at sea.
Such accidents often happen."
" No, Dan Devrill — or rather devil. I will
7iot take her life. Get her safely over to
Rotterdam, and consign her to the care of
Vaneck, and two thousand pounds are
yours. And now I have not another
moment to stay. !^[eet me here this day
week to receive your reward."
Lord Derwent hurried away.
" I'll go a shorter way to work than that,
my fine lord," said Dan to himself. " The
boat shall capsize (accidentally, of course).
I can save myself; but Minna, Lady
Derwent, shall go to the bottom. My lord
will be glad enough to hear she's done
for, as long as he thinks it were Pro-
vidence as cut her off, and not Dan
Devrill ; and as he'll be in my power for
ever a'ter this, he nmst not only come down
with the two thousand, but be prepared to
fork out 'ansome, whenever it's my will and
pleasure to apply."
VOL. III. 14
All me methought what pain it was to drown."
AUL and Mary had met once more
as in the olden time.
They had roamed together among
the rocks; they had sat down by the sea,
and Paul had opened his heart to the
'^ maiden of his bosom." He had won from
her a confession of reciprocal love, and a
promise to be his, as soon as he could — with
his father's consent — offer her his hand,
his heart, and a home.
Paul had resolved to stay one day longer
in the to him enchanted palace of Love
and Hope. He had written to Beagle,
givmg him full directions; and he had
promised Mary to see her for a few minutes,
at her garden gate in the sweet moonlight,
on her return from her sail with her friend
the " Veiled Lady." " I would accompany
you, my own affianced darling," he whis-
pered, as he held her to his true heart in a
parting embrace, "but I see my poor
father cannot bear me to leave him, and is
looking forward with such delight to our
dining together to-day, I could not bear
to disappoint him ; but while he takes his
afternoon nap I will run over here to say
farewell to my idol, my love, my affianced
Dan Devrill's face was not very well
known to Minna, and he had disguised him-
self so cleverly that when he appeared in
tiie boat, and said that as Kit was taken
bad, all of a sudden, he had agreed to take
the ladies for a sail, neither Mary nor
her friend had the slightest suspicion of his
14 — 2
identity with the Dan Devrill they both
knew to be a reprobate.
It was a lovely evening, with just breeze
enough to freshen the soft balmy air, and
fill the little sails.
Both Mary and her friend were silent !
Minna was thinking, as they glided so
lightly over the azure ripples of that sunlit
sea, of that night of storm and shipwreck
and horror when the fierce, foaming, crested
waves had torn her darling child irom her
Minna knew that the old Earl of Alta-
mount was on his deathbed !
She knew that the hour she had so longed
for was at hand. The hour when in the
face of the whole world she could prove
herself a wedded wife, and be clasped to a
father's proud heart, as one who not only
had brought no blot on a time-honoured
race, but had linked — as other daughters
of her house had done of yore — the name
of Trelawny with that of Ardennes. And
now — now that the time is at hand, the
■childless woman thinks of the agony, the
shame, the despair of that proud father,
her cruel destroyer. And she asks her
woman-heart m its sublime forgiveness and
self-abnegation, " Shall I, by proclaiming
niv own ri2:hts destroy the son he so loves?
If my child had lived, my path of duty
were clear ! I could not, would not sacri-
fice my child and her interests, her future !
but my own I Oh Father in Heaven, guide
and enlighten me! Alas! if I disappoint
his hopes, my own father will never raise his
head, never smile again. He will go to
his grave believing that his only child has
brought dishonour to his name!"
AYhile Minna pondered thus and was
still, Mary was silent too, but hers was
the silence of rapture, of ecstasy, of a bliss
too great for utterance.
She still felt on her lips the pressure of
Paul's first kiss of love.
Her cheek still glowed with surprise and
passionate tenderness and joy ineffable,
and her bosom bounded and throbbed as
it had done, when, for one dear delicious
moment, his face had been pillowed there.
Mimia, absorbed by sad and conflicting
thoughts, and Mary Lynn, scarce conscious
of anything but love and hope, took no
heed of the brilliant sunset, nor of their
boatman's strange manceuvres, when sud^
denly a wild shriek escaped the lips of
both, and they clung to each other in an
agony of terror.
The boat capsized, and they in a moment
were in the water !
Minna was the first to recover her self-
She could swim. Mary, alas ! could
Dan Devrill, in the hope that they would
both swiftly go to the bottom, had dived
out of sight — he was a practised diver.
He intended, as soon as both the ladies
had sunk, to rise to the surface, right the
boat, and make for a rocky point he
He was not at all prepared, when he
came to the surface, to find Minna clinging
to the boat with one hand, and supporting
Mary Lynn with the other !
The wretch seized an oar which floated
near him, and the horrified Minna saw him
glaring on them with murderous purpose
and cruel rage — and as his carroty wig
and beard were gone, carried off by the
waves, and the red paint had been
washed from his face by the foam, the
truth flashed across her mind in an
She recognised the villain, Dan Devrill,
just as he was about to strike her on the
head with the oar.
Her shrieks and prayers would of course
have been vain, as addressed to the ruffian,
but they were heard by One who had power
to paralyse the arm of that murderer !
For .the first time in his life, Dan
Devrill Avas seized witli cramp while in
Cramp in all his limbs !
The oar dropt from his powerless hands,
and w^ith a hideous oath and a tierce yell
of pain and despair, he sank.
Three times he rose to the surface, but
unable to strike out, or do aught to save
himself, he at last disappeared, to rise no
" Heaven is for us !" said Minna, to the
almost unconscious Mary Lynn. " Bear
up, dear g-irl ! I fancy I see a boat at no
great distance. Cling to me while I seize
this floating pole, and fasten my black veil
and your white shawl to it ! Hoist it. Oh,
should it catch the eye of any one in that
boat, we may yet be saved !"
Mary could not speak, but she un-
loosed her shawl with one hand, while with
the other she clung to Minna's waist !
Minna hoisted her signal.
There were some minutes of intense
suspense! And then she could see a red
ilag. hoisted, as an answer to her signal.
It was probably the pocket-handker-
chief of some one in the boat !
"Courage, dear Mary Lynn!" cried
Minna. " A boat with two men in it is
coming rapidly towards us ! Oh, do not
give way ! For Heaven's sake bear up a
feAv minutes longer ! They come ! hark,
do you not hear their shouts? Great
Heaven, how pale — how icy cold she is!
What shall I do ? My strength is unequal
to this effort !"
But Mary was not to perish.
Just as she was about to relax her hold,
and slip from the arm of Minna into the
sea, the boat n eared.
One of the men threw out a rope, which
]\Iinna seized and passed round ^Mary's
A few minutes more and the now un-
conscious girl was lifted into the Fretty
Polly., Xatt Lynn's fishing-boat. Minna
was placed beside her, and then, although
the shades of evenino* were closme: round
them, she recognised with dehght in her
two rescuers Paul Penryn and Natt
The agony of mind of Natt and Paul
might be seen in their pale cheeks,
their anxious glances at the prostrate
and still unconscious Mary, and their
superhuman efforts to reach the
At length they were able to land close to
Minna, utterly regardless of herself and
her dripping garments, followed Natt and
Paul into the cottao^e.
A good fire blazed in the grate, for
it was supper time, and Rosy was busy
" Leave Mary to Rosy and me for a
few minutes," said Minna. " We will un-
dress her and get her to bed."
They spread a blanket on the hearth,
and Eosy brought out a nightdress of her
''We must rub her with hot flannels,"
said Minna; "but first a few drops of
brandy must be poured down her
This was done, and was followed by
a shiver and some tokens of returning
"Father of Mercies!" cried Minna,
"what is that mark? ' M.A.,' a coronet,
and a date !"
" Oh, sister's always had that, it's a birth-
"No, no, no!" screamed Minna; " it is
But at that wild scream Polly Lynn had
risen from her bed, and glided white and
ghost -like into the room, and Natt, who
feared some terrible catastrophe, had rushed
"Woman," cried Minna, "tell me, and
you Natt Lynn, as you hope for Heaven,
both of you tell me, whence came this girl?
She is /wt your child. She is — she must
" God sent her to us," cried Polly Lynn ;
'' the waves brought her almost to our
door on the morning after the wreck of the
" The wreck of the Golden Bengal^'
shrieked Minna, turning almost fiercely to
Natt Lynn. " Man, why did you not
make this known? AVhy did you appro-
priate another's child?"
'' Natt warn't to blame," cried Polly.
" The fault's all mine. He found the
shipwrecked babe asleep in the sun among
the rocks, the very morn our first-born,
our Polly, breathed her last. He brought
the motherless babe, hungering for food, to
the overflowing bosom of the childless
mother, and small shame to him, if any !
As it growed up, and its birth and breeding
showed themselves in its delicate beauty
and lady- ways, Natt Avanted to tell the
Vicar the whole truth, but I feared it
miirht be took from me, and so I over-
persuaded and over-ruled him ; but my
conscience has pricked me for many a
year, and the thought I've maybe wronged
Mary, and kept her from her rights, for
my own selfish ends, has brought me to
a sick, ay, maybe a deathbed; but Xatt
ain't to blame."
"Yes I be,'' said Natt; " I should have
told the Vicar. A man should do what
his conscience tells him is right, and not
listen to his wife, or his own weak, sinful
By this time ^lary had opened her eyes,
and found herself in Minna's arms, clasped
to her bosom.
The mother's tears were falling like rain
on the pale and beautiful face of the long-
lost child !
But not then or tliere did Minna, Lady
Derwent, claim that lovely girl as her
Rosy had helped her mother back to bed,
and after a few minutes she approached
Minna with a sealed-up parcel. She said —
" Mother says here's all the proofs of
what she've kept hid up so long. Mother
says you'd best show them to the Vicar,
and ask his Reverence to advise for the
Then, bursting into tears, Rosy added —
" But oh, Mary dear ! can it be true that
we're not sisters after all? AYe always
loved as sisters, and "
''Hush, Rosy," said Minna; "Mary is
much exhausted, and has fallen asleep — do
not disturb her now. I am certain she will
ever be a sister to you !"
" Oh I but that can't be the same thing
as being a real sister, and the same flesh
and blood," said Rosa, still sobbing. ''It's
like a fairy tale — I can't believe it."
Natt Lynn had retired to watch over his
poor Polly ; and Minna, after helping Rosy
to put Mary to bed, told her she would
take the sealed-up parcel to the Yicar, and
then she would return to pass the night by
" But you're wet through and through,"
said Rosy. '' You'll catch 3^our death of
cold. Do change your things ; any poor
clothes of mine would be better than
She little guessed what a glow of happi-
ness and joy ineffable warmed Minna's
heart, and sent the blood dancing through
her veins !
Paul had been walking wildly to and fro
outside the cottage door, awaiting fresh
tidings of Mary.
Rosy had already been to him several
times, to tell him how Mary was progressing.
The last account was so satisfactory that he
hurried back to his father with a light
Minna yielded to Rosy's entreaties and
accepted a loan of dry clothes; and then
seizing the precious parcel and clasping it
to her heart, she fondly kissed the sleep-
ing Mary, and issued* from the cottage
The moon had risen, and the sea was one
vast expanse of silver ripples.
A holy calm was on the face of
A soft breeze freshened the air; and the
towers and battlements of Altamount Castle,
silvered by the moon, rose to view as
Minna made her way through the rocks on
her Avay home !
At this moment a funeral bell tolled
mournfully and heavily.
That lonely woman, carrying that pre-
cious parcel, as she made her w^ay up the
little precipitous path of steps cut through
the rocks, knew whose death that knell
She fell on her knees, and this prayer
burst from her lips —
"Father in Heaven! have mercy on his
soul ! — and Q^wide and streno;then me to do
my duty towards the child Thy mercy has
restored to me !''
Minna counted the seventy chhnes that
announced the age of the mortal just gone
I'rom grandeur to the grave.
Then she said to herself, " No, no ! I
miorht have sacrificed mvself to save thee,
Jasper, and the son thou lovest so well; —
but I too have a child now, and I will not
sacrifice my child !"
Of course, in this resolution Minna
-was confirmed and strengthened by her
To him she now confessed all that he
had so long suspected.
In his hands she placed the proofs of her
private marriage, and those of the identity
of Mary Lynn with the lost darling who
had been carried away from her by the
fierce waves when her strength forsook her,
on the night of the wreck of the Golden
For the first time since his daughter's
VOL. III. 15
elopement with Jasper Ardennes, the
Vicar's head was proudly erect as of yore.
Peace sat on his noble brow, and happiness-
lighted his dark eyes.
For the first time since that sad day, he
embraced his daughter without a sigh, and
blessed her as lie had been wont to do,^
before she had brought a doubt on her
name and fame.
"It is not unlikely," said the Vicar,
*•' that we shall be obliged to have recourse
to law to ensure justice; but no matter, the
truth is so clear, your claim so irresistible,
that I do not hesitate,"' he said, as old
Dorcas brought in the supper-tray, '^ to
drink to the health of the Countess of Alta-
mount and her beautiful, long-lost daughter^
Lady Mary Ardennes !"
He then briefly told the faithful Dorcas
all, and poured her out a bumper of wine,
that she too might drink to the health of
the Countess of Altamount and Lady Mary
Down on both her knees fell poor old
Dorcas, and as she drank that toast, the
tears coursed each other down her furrowed
cheeks, and — ^' God bless you, master, and
you, my lady, and your blessed child.
Amen !" burst from her very heart.
Misfortunes come in crowds, and on
the very night of the old Earl's death
a telegram arrived at the Gastle, an-
nouncing that Jasper Ardennes was no
Just as his mother and all around him
were rejoicing in an imaginary amendment,
he fell back in his chair without a groan, a
struggle, or a sigh, and his pure young
spirit went on its unknown, but surely
In consequence of this terrible cata-
strophe, the Earl's funeral was postponed
until his grandson's remains could reach
Altamount Castle, so that both might be
consigned to the family vault on the same
day. That day came at last ; but the new
Earl was in no state to act as chief
The wretched man was raving mad !
The grand funeral took place all the
* Tir « *
Mr. Penryn of Penryn Manor House,
and his son, our friend Paul, were among
those of the neighbours invited to the
Paul had hurried back to town, and to
his duties, the day after ]\Iary Lynn's rescue
from "a watery grave," as the papers say.
It was long after office hours, but Paul
was still in Mr. Cottrell's private room
looking over accounts and letters, and
making up for lost time, when a cab
stopped at the entrance, and, in answer to
a sharp ring and loud knock, Paul, at that
time the only person in the house, went to
the door, asked who was there, and was
answered in the loud, hearty, honest voice
of Colin Cottrell himself.
Mr. Oottrell was in high spirits. A spe-
culation in which Paul had embarked, in
his employer s absence had realized a very
large sum ; and better still, Lord Snowdon's
persevering suit and delicate attentions had
won from Rhoda a consent to be his wife.
" You must be at the wedding, my dear
boy,"' said Mr. Cottrell, "and so must my
dear old friend, vour flither. And now
listen : you told me you had a great object
in view, in earning a thousand pounds as soon
as possible. You have worked harder and
denied yourself more, than I thought any
young man of your age could have done.
How much do you want now to make up
the thousand pounds?"
" With all my labour and economy," said
Paul, " I have onlv made three hundred
" Then," said Mr. Cottrell, " as your share
of this, your own successful speculation, I
present you with seven hundred to com-
plete your thousand."
Paul could not speak his thanks, his joy,
his exquisite satisfaction; but his sudden
pallor, his quivering lip and trembling
limbs, and the tears that would gush from
his eyes, were far more eloquent than
*' My eyes would rain but tears of blood.
My heart would burst with woe untold;
But that I know that thou art young,
While I am growing old.
*' That thou art young, and bright, and fair.
Beyond the loveliness of earth ;
And that the hour which sealed thy death.
Revealed th}' real birth.
*' And that thy dear beloved brow
Is bound wdth everlasting palm,
While God's supernal glory garbs
The Virgin of the Lamb."
HE remains of Jasper Ardennes,
attended only by his valet, arrived
at Altamount Castle in time to
be consigned to the family vault on the day
fixed for the Earl's funeral. His mother
was detained at St. Malo by a terrible
She was to cross over to AVeyiaoutb, and
thence to travel to Penzance.
It was not yet known wliy Minna and
Mary attended tbe old Earl's funeral as
After the funeral, when all the distant
relatives, friends, and dependents of the
late Earl were assembled to hear his lord-
ship's last will and testament read aloud by
the family solicitor, our old friend Molehill,
Mr. Trelawny came forward, and the will
having been read, he briefly addressed those
He gave a short history of the secret en-
gagement and private marriage of Jasper
Lord Derwent, at that time the Hon. Mr.
Ardennes, with his daughter ]\Iinna; of her
return to England with her child in the
Gohkji Bengal ; of the wreck of that vessel ;
of her escape, as it was so long thought, a
childless mother; of the recent discovery
ihat her child had been saved too, and
brought up bv Xatt and Polly Lpm as
their own ; and of the events that had led
to the mothers recognition of her lost
He produced all the proofs of this strange
eventful history, and informed all present
that his daughter, now the Countess of
Altamount, and her child. Lady Mary
Ardennes, were advised and resolved at
once to establish themselves at Altamount
Castle. Molehill had already been made
acquainted with all particulars, and was
fully convinced of Minna's claims.
He hated the woman who had hitherto
been called Lady Derwent, for she had ever
treated IMolehill, whom she called a petti-
foaorer, with extreme insolence.
When at the end of his speech Mr.
Trelawny led forth Minna, Lady Alta-
mount, and Mary her daughter, a murmur
of joy soon grew into a tumult of approba-
tion and delight.
" Long live the Countess of Altamount
nnd Lady Mary Ardennes !" said Molehill;
and his words were echoed by all present —
even by Paul, although he was very pale,
and his lips trembled.
" God bless you, Mary!" he said, " I do
wish you joy; but my fairy palace is
shattered — my heart is breaking !"
" You have no right to break mine,
Paul," whispered Mary. "We have plighted
our troth, we have pledged our faith — I am
your affianced — I must be your wife ! My
mother is in our secret ; she knows of our
engagement, and she approves of it. I have
no one to consult but that dear gentle
mother; for all the physicians celebrated
for skill in mental maladies have met in
consultation, and they consider my father's
" Mary," said Paul, pale and trembling
with emotion, " when I asked you to be my
w^ife, I thought you were a poor fisherman's
daughter, with no dowry but your virtue,
your genius, and your beauty, no nobility
but that of the soul, no wealth but that of
the heart, no estate but that of the highly
cultivated mind. Even then 1 felt un-
worthy of such a treasure, what must I feel
now — now that you are proved to be the
only daughter and heiress of the Earl and
Countess of Altamount !"
" Why," sobbed Mary, " you must feel,
Paul, that unless all the nobility of soul and
wealth of mind and heart you ascribed to
me as poor Mary Lynn, were purely
imaginary, ni}' whole happiness must
depend on your love, my whole pride be
centered in you, my only ambition be to
hear you say that all the hopes you had
garnered up in Mary Lynn have been
realized by Lady Mary Ardennes ! Paul, it
were indeed a false pride that would lead
you to break the heart that worships you,
and to destroy her Avhom you promised
so solemnly to love, to cherish, and
" Love lays the sliepherd's crook beside
the sceptre," sighed Paul; "but yet . . . ."
"I have no sceptre, and you no crook,
dearest," said Mary. " You are a gentleman,
and a duke can be no more. Often, in the
olden time, the Penryns have wedded
members of our house: I have heard you
say so yourself. So there are precedents in
abundance, as the lawyers say."
Then smiling and blushing as he caught
her to his heart she said — " Paul, don't
compel me to sue you for a breach of
y^i -.',i ^ '!«
Little did the vain and heartless woman
who had so long considered herself to be
Lady Derv/ent, anticipate the terrible re-
verse of fortune that awaited her on her
arrival at Altamount Castle.
Hard as was her heart, and narrow as
was her mind, the death of her only son
was at first a terrible blow to her pride,
and to such affections as she possessed;
but she was too essentially frivolous to dwell
Ions: on an event whicli would for ever
have darkened the life of most women.
Before a week had passed away she was
pondering in her own mind how to make
deep mourning becoming to her — and
visions of jet butterflies and bugle trim-
mings, were suggested by her maid, as she
secretly administered the now habitual
''night draught," taking care to increase
the proportion of alcohol with every
At the Penzance station Molehill met
her wlio now, of course, considered herself
the Countess of Altamount. All her
luggage was so labelled, and her three
little girls had already accustomed them-
selves to the pleasant sound of ''lady" pre-
fixed to their names.
The Yicar, by Molehill's request, ac-
companied him to the station, and both
informing the supposed Countess that they
had very important and distressing news to
communicate to her, requested her to
adjourn with them to the Railway
" My husband is no more," thought the
lady, as flushed and excited she desired them
to assist her to the hotel.
As she walked by the Vicar's side the
few steps they had to go, her chief thought
was how very unbecoming a widow's cap
Avould be, and that the title would pro-
bably, by the Queen's decision, descend to
her eldest girl !
The Vicar led the way to a sitting-room,
and the rest of the travelling party awaited
her ladyship's return at the station.
The first dreadful announcement —
namely, that of her husband's insanity —
the lady bore with great resignation; but
when the whole truth was conveyed to her,
of the existence of one whose claim to be
Countess of Altamount was clear and indis-
putable, and whose daughter was no other
than that very Mary Lynn whom she had
SO hated and wronged, slie became almost a
maniac. She completely lost all ladylike
self-control ; and her blood heated by evil
passions and habitual intemperance, she
abused the Yicar, Molehill, her rival the
Countess of Altamount, and Mary Lynn in
the o:rosse>=t lansruasre.
She spurned little Molehill from her with
bitter taunts when he drew near to try to
comfort her ; then suddenly she rushed
upon him, pulled his thin hair till it came
out in grizzled tufts, boxed his ears, and
would have torn his eyes out, had not the
Vicar, seeing that Molehill could not defend
himself, hastened to his rescue and forcibly
held the hands of the virao^o behind her
back, while she accused him of hypocrisy
and forgery, and shouted out " Murder !"
Suddenly, however, her face became
purple, her bloodshot eyes stared at
vacancy, foam was on her blackened lips,
her Ihnbs became rigid, and she sank in a
heap on the ground.
The violence of her passion had brought
on a fit, in which she was conveyed to bed,
and consigned to the care of her maid and
the family physician.
Her illness was a very long and dan-
gerous one, and while it lasted her children
were located at the Castle under the care of
When she recovered she went up to town
to consult a solicitor who had been strongly
recommended to her by her maid.
Mr. Twist did not rank very high in his
profession, but he was very unscrupulous
Full of quirks and quibbles, and well up
in forgotten Acts of Parliament, and all the
backways of the law, his more orthodox
brethren called him a pettifogger, but
he often, with an equally unscrupulous
Counsel, gained a verdict in spite of the
most eminent and eloquent members of
In Mr. Twist's hands the now deposed
Lady placed her cause, and in the meantnne
she accepted a good income offered her by
the acknowledged Countess of Altamount
— our Minna — who, as the new Earl was
quite incapable of thinking or acting, took
counsel of her own noble heart, her father,
and Molehill, in this matter.
Of course, all that Twist could do was to
entail heavy expenses on his client.
The rights of the Earl's first wife,
Minna, and the identity of Mary Lynn with
her long lost child, were too clear to be for
one moment disputed.
When, after being dragged through
several other Courts, the now celebrated
cause reached the highest and last refuge of
justice — the House of Lords, all was right,
for there the claims of Minna, Countess of
Altamount, and Mary, her only child, were
fully recognised. Her unfortunate rival,
handsomely provided for by her, retired to
Paris with her children, and there married a
young French Count, solely that she might
VOL. III. ]G
still be called a Countess ; but he, being
one of the worst and most extravagant of
the modern French school of fast men,
ill-used, neglected her, and squandered her
* * * *
It was in the greatest seclusion that Lady
Altamount and Mary spent the first two
years of their reunion at Altamount
All that time the Earl was in a state of
His moods varied from the deepest
melancholy to the most violent and furious
Lady Altamount would not listen to the
advice of the great and leading physicians
pre-eminent in cases of mental disease.
One of them, a clever but not very dis-
interested man, kept an asylum near London
for the accommodation of lunatics of wealth
He gave it as his opinion that Lord Alta-
mount could not recover, unless lie liad the
entire charge of him at his own suburban
villa, called "The Dulce Domum."
Minna, however, would not trust her
afflicted, guilty, but still beloved lord out of
her own sight and keeping.
''What is the use of wealth," she said,
^' if it cannot be spent to mitigate as much
as possible this, the most terrible of inflic-
tions. Whatever Dr. Mortmain can do at
'The Dulce Domum' I Avillhave done here
for my afflicted husband ! I care not how
many attendants he may require, what ex-
pensive arrangements may be necessary —
all can be met, all can be done — but he shall
never be taken where his vnfe and daughter
cannot see him at all times, and prevent the
possibility of one harsh Avord or act
being added to his sum of misery and
During the EarFs milder moods his wife
and daughter spent much of their time in
Music had a great power to soothe and
Both the Countess and Lady Mary were
excellent musicians. Both sang sweetly.
For hours together the Earl would listen
to the piano placed in his dressing-room^
and to the soothing airs the mother and
daughter sang or played to him.
At this time no visitors were admitted to
the Castle, save Paul and his father, the
Yicar, and the medical men.
To the surprise of the latter the violent
fits of mania had become less and less
frequent, and at last had entirely
The Earl's melancholy seemed also to
become less constant and intense, and fre-
quently some plaintive air sung by his wife
or his daughter would cause him to shed
floods of tears.
But just as a very decided amendment
was taking place in his mental state, he was
seized with a kind of typhoid fever, at that
time raging in Cornwall, and which perhaps
his medical attendant had brought to the
Castle from some poor cottage.
For some weeks Lord Altamount hovered
betw^een life and death.
For the greater part of that time he was
His wife and daughter were unremitting
in their devoted attentions, and, as if to re-
ward their subhme affection, the crisis
The Earl's life w^as saved ; and there w^as
good cause to believe that his reason was
restored, for the first words he uttered, as
he lay weak, w^asted, and wan on his bed,
^fter the fever had left him, were —
" Minna, my wife, my love, forgive and
Thus were the wife's sublime constancy
and Christian forgiveness rewarded.
He was saved and restored to her !
Paul had continued with Mr. Cottrell
until the thousand pounds were replaced in
the Three per Cents., and he had been pre-
sent at the marriage of Rhoda and her
The day before the money was replaced^
Mr. Penryn received a letter from his niece
" Ann," announcing her approaching mar-
riage to a young surgeon, and asking her
uncle and trustee to authorize her having
her little fortune sold out of the funds and
placed at her own disposal, to furnish a
house and help her husband to purchase
the stock and good-will of his former
employer, who was retiring from busi-
Upon the receipt of this letter Mr. Penryn
set out for London, but not till he had
thanked his Heavenly Father, on his bended
knees, and with many tears, for the blessing
of such a son as Paul.
" But for my dear boy," he said to him-
self, " and his devotion, self-sacrifice, and
filial piety, what shame, anguish, and dis-
grace would be my portion now!"
Paul received his father with joy.
Mr. Cottrell, too, was enchanted to see
his old friend. They all three drove down
to "The Larches" to dine and sleep, and the
next day Mr. Penryn sold out Ann's thou-
sand pounds for the second time, and paid
the sum into a bank indicated by his niece.
As he did so, tears gushed to his eyes, and
he whispered to Paul —
" Good son ! — good son ! May God in
Heaven bless thee ! And oh, my boy ! my
friend ! my Paul ! thou hast saved ni}'
house and thy cousin's little fortune. I
never meant to do aught but greatly benefit
her, when I yielded to that false Downy's
delusive representations, and sold out her
thousand pound stock with, as I thought,
the certainty of doubling it at least, and all
for her good. I am acquitted by my own
conscience ; but oh, good son ! but for you
I must have been pronounced guilty, if not
in a court of law, at least by the verdict of
society. Now I can raise my head once
more, look all men in the face, and whisper
to my long-tortured heart the magic word
— Acquitted ! God bless and reward thee,
thou best of sons !" and he kissed him as if
he were still a child.
" Pledged thus b}- thee to be cherished, thy spouse and
thy future companion."
HE lilacs and laburnums were in
full bloom, the white and pink
May, and the snowy blossoms of
the Gueldre rose added their charms to the
shrubberies and gardens of Altamount
Castle. All the birds were paired and
happy, and the woods wore the bright green
livery of the Lady Spring, when the joy-bells
ringing in the soft balmy air proclaimed a
wedding — a quiet, almost private wedding,
No Bishop, aided by Archdeacons, united
that happy pair.
No Royal Duke gave away that blushing
No dozen titled bridesmaids, all blue or
pink gauze, followed the bride to the altar,
and wept and called her " poor dear!"
In the little quaint old church at Pen-
combe, the vicar, Mr. Trelawny, joined the
hands of Paul and Mary.
The Earl, still pale and weak but quite
restored to reason, and full of contrition
and love, gave away his only child to the
noble-hearted man of her choice. His
Minna had told him the story of their true
love, and Minna was now his guiding star,
his counsellor, his constant companion
and friend — all that Avoman can be when
she fulfils to the uttermost all the duties
— the love-prompted duties — of a true
Minna approved of their daughter's love
for Paul Penryn; Minna sanctioned their
eno-ao^ement and lono;ed for their union ;
and the Earl now saw with Minna's eyes
and felt with her heart.
Mary's only bridesmaid was her sister
Rosa. The foster father and mother would
have been among the most honoured guests,
but that the latter was still too weak to
quit her room, and Natt was too tender a
husband to leave her alone while Rosa was
Much more cheerful and enjoyable than
most wedding breakfasts was that at which
Paul and his Mary presided.
Mr. Penryn proposed the health of the
happy pair, and after Paul had returned
thanks, the Earl of Altaraount said —
'' ^lay the young couple whose union we
now celebrate, ever find through life their
best happiness in each other's love; and
may they take warning by the errors of
one, whose life might have been as happy
and peaceful as theirs now promises to be,
but who wilfully and madly drove from his
side that an2:el of his hearth and of his
life, a good wife ; and therefore, not only
did he well deserve the desolation and
anguish of his early manhood, but owed to
nothing but her sublime forgiveness the
comfort and the joys that have come upon
and blest him in his noon of life."
No happier newly wedded pair than our
Paul and his Mary ever set out on that
bridal tour which is the gay beginning of
that serious iournev whose iroal is the
Two of the minor characters of that
domestic drama, in which the young couple
had played the leading parts, happened,
strangely enough, to cross their path soon
after their marriage.
A few days after their wedding, while
they were staying at a very quaint old
hotel at Exeter (for they did not dash off
by railway for the coast, on their way to the
Rhine, but travelled in their own carriage
with post horses, from one interesting
English city to another, for some weeks),
Paul induced Mary to come with him to
enjoy the humours of an old-fashioned fair,
coupled with some races, which were just
then going on at Exeter.
The scene was verv interestino^ to these
3'oiing lovers of the picturesque and the
The weather was very fine and sunny,
the air so balmy, and the spot chosen for
the fair, just outside the to^^'n, was very
green and rural.
As they passed through the centre aisle
of the fair, amid the din of the rival bands,
the shouts of the showmen, the smell of
oranges and gingerbread nuts, the Aunt
Sallies, the thimble-rigs, the merry-go-
rounds, the fortune-tellers, the card-
sharpers, the betting booths, and all the
humours of the races, Paul suddenly recog-
nised in the fat face and form, and the
coaxing voice of a thimble-rig man, who
was urging him to bet as to which thimble
the pea was under, the man who had been
his father s evil genius — Sligo Downy !
Sligo Downy's little table stood before a
small tentj which formed the entrance of a
betting and drinking booth. His sly
watchful eye had no sooner lighted on Paul,
than he recognised the son of the man he
had cheated, robbed, ruined.
He suddenly backed into his little tent
and totally disappeared, nor did he come
forth again till Paul and j\Iary had left the
"Still a speculator, a cheat, and a hum-
bug," thought Paul; " though now he tricks
with peas instead of thousands, and his
dupes are rustics who stake only pence on
his promises. My dear father will smile to
hear of Sligo Down}^ as a thimblerigger !
Sic transit gloria mundi /"
But if Sligo Downy had gone down in
the world, the next old acquaintance Paul
met at these races seemed to have risen in
Springing from a very smart and sporting
dog- cart, dressed in the extreme of the
fashion called '' horsey," and in company
with two other young men of the same class,
Paul beheld his late brother clerk — Fisk !
Fisk exclaimed, "Penryn, my boy, I'm
glad to see you ! Wish you joy I Saw your
marriage in the Times — glad to have the
honour of an introduction to Mrs. Paul."
And then— while Mary, to give Fisk an op-
portunity of speaking to his old friend,
made some little purchases at a stall — Fisk
rapidly revealed to Paul that he was now
himself a Commission Betting Agent, and
driving a roaring trade. He added, that at
the death of an uncle, who during his life,
and even when he was in prison, would not
lend him sixpence, but who had died in-
testate, he, Fisk, had come into five thousand
pounds ; that he had proposed to Sparks to
enter into partnership with him; that the
offer had been joyfully accepted, and that
they were now making a fine living out of
such dupes as he had himself been when on
a high stool at Cottrell's.
'* On commence par etre dwpe on jinit par
etre frifon^'' said Paul, smiling; and Fisk,
who pretended to understand French, but
did not, thought it was a compliment, and
" Just so, old boy ! You've hit the right
nail on the head I"
" Oh, by-the-bje, old boy ! have you
heard about Brymer ? Capital fun ! He's
tied up at last. He got into a correspondence
through a penny paper with a woman who
signed herself " A Broken Lily" — said she
was a young widow with tAVo hundred a
year — only eighteen, and no encumbrances.
Brymer, signing himself '' A Young Oak "
(he might have said an " old hoax "), lie sent
her his "Deep, deep Sigh," printed in gold
on an embossed and perforated card. They
met. She humbugged him into eloping with
her. They got married in haste, and now
he's repenting at leisure ; for she turns out
to be thirty, has four children, and not a
penny in the world 1"
"Ah," said Paul, " now Brymer may bring
liis 'Deep, deep Sigh' into play indeed!"
"Very neat, old boy. But there's the bell.
Crusader's going to run." said Fisk. " I'm
off. Come and see the race. Back Cru-
sader — 100 to 5 ; double event. No ! Well,
good-b3^e. Here goes !"
"Yes," thought Paul; "on the road to
And he amused Mary with a funny ac-
count of Fisk and of Fisk's party, as they
walked back to dinner at their old inn.
•ir ^r TT w
Our tale is told, and we hope, that though
poetical justice is rather out of fashion with
writers, yet, as it is always welcome to the
readers, they Avill thank us for having
fairly awarded it.
Without venturing to dwell long in a
novel on that Highest Court at whose Bar
we shall all be one day judged, and from
which there can be no appeal, we, in justifi-
cation of our title, venture to remind our
VOL. 111. 17
readers that, even as far as this life is con-
cerned, we are, from our childhood to our
graves, on trial before two Courts — the
inner one of Conscience (that solemn secret
Tribunal, from the verdict of which none
can escape), and that public one, which,
whether we call it " Opinion," " Society," or
^^ the World," is all-important to the man}',
and is really disregarded by none.
It is true that some are fully Acquitted
by the Secret Tribunal of Conscience, who
are condemned by that of Public Opinion ;
and some who cannot escape the verdict of
"Guilty," whispered wherever they maybe
in the startled ear, by the still, small voice
of the Clerk of that dread Court, may still
leave that of Society " without a stain on
With regard to our dramatis perso?ice, we
may state that Lord Altamount was of
course pronounced " Guilty" by both the
Courts of Conscience and of Society; but
that he obtained his reprieve and a free
pardon, through the intercession of that
merciful and all-forgiving judge — a loving
That wife's early fault in leaving a good
father for a false lover and a bad husband
was so severely punished in after-life, that
both her Conscience and Society recom-
mended her to mercy.
Our young wedded lovers, Paul and his
Mary, are unirapeached and unimpeach-
And Paul Penryn, sen., of Penryn Manor
House, in spite of his weakness and his
breach of trust, in spite of the agonies of
his self-reproach and his terrors of disgrace,
is, owing to the sublime courage and self-
sacrifice of his good, brave son, brought in
'^ Not guilty in intention" by the verdict of
his Conscience, and by the verdict of Society
is fully *' Acquitted."
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